


One Thing At A Time

by FishMcSpine



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Autistic Prompto Argentum, Childhood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Kid!Prompto, M/M, MT!Prompto, Mute!Prompto, Poor Prompto Argentum, Taking liberties with the MT concept, Temporarily Mute, The chocobros are children, is there a word for a kidfic that's about the characters AS kids and not the characters raising kids, kid!Ignis, papa!Cor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-06-24 12:45:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15630942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FishMcSpine/pseuds/FishMcSpine
Summary: AU where the circumstances of Prompto being extracted from Niflheim are different and Cor takes it upon himself to oversee the boy's healing and integration into a softer world. But he realizes he can't do this all on his own, and that healthy children need to talk to other children. So he enlists the help of one junior advisor, Ignis Scientia.Basically: kids who lost their childhood, trying to be children.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I the only one who checks the MT!Prompto tag on a more-than-daily basis? Yeah? Oh.
> 
> Uh, hi. I haven't written fic since middle school and I never even published it so I don't know what I'm doing here. I have the game but I STILL haven't had time to play it yet. So writing for it feels like fic taboo. But I've read, like, one million MT!Prompto fics because it's the trope I've always wanted to read and I have an itch that needs to be scratched and it seems now that I am the one who must scratch it. Maybe the itch is mutual for you and this little scratch helps us all. Consider it a fic of the genre.
> 
> The relationship tags largely indicate Ignis and Prompto's emotional friendship and the whole thing can be interpreted as gen just fine, but also in the future of this AU they probably definitely get together so there's that. That and kid crushes are adorable so who knows if it'll come up.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!....

“Hello there, Ignis. It’s nice to meet you again.”

The man addressing him looks upset, but anyone fortuitous to have enough interactions with the man understands that’s just how his face looks. It’s a face that unquestionably asserts all business all the time, and Ignis strives to channel that kind of demeanor himself. Nobody crosses Cor The Immortal, and nobody should cross Ignis Scientia.

“Likewise, sir,” Ignis bows lightly, and swiftly returns upright.

Cor nods. “I don’t suppose you’ve been told why I’ve requested you here today.”

“No, sir.” _Requested_ must have been an understatement. He was used to meticulous planning in regards to his daily tasks, and any additions tended to be thoroughly detailed to him before he was committed to new tasks. But this matter was revealed to him in a rush, the meeting set up abruptly, going as far as to cut his etiquette lesson for the day in half.

One less thing on his mind, he supposed. But surely he’d have to make up for it later two-fold.

Cor nods again. “I see. It’s a bit difficult to explain. Nothing that could’ve been rushed over the phone. This is important. Please, have a seat.”

Ignis situates himself in one of the plush chairs in front of Cor’s desk. The afterimage of etiquette lessons still sits vividly in his muscles and perfect posture comes automatically. So perhaps this meeting being held in quick succession to his etiquette lesson is a blessing in disguise. Convenient at the very least.

Like this, the two sit in a brief silence. Ignis knows not to pressure superiors, but he can’t help the twinge of demanding curiosity pooling in him.

Finally, but as if he still isn’t ready, Cor speaks. “We’re dealing with… a difficult case. I’ll get right to the point. During our most recent excursion in Niflheim, we recovered a child from the facility of interest.”

That was concerning at best. He’d been told he’s too young yet to access the reports regarding Cor’s missions, but of the stories he heard from the man or relayed from Noctis, none were anything less than tales spun out of war. So, if he were in the field, where would he have found a child?

Cor must see the look in his eyes. “It’s about as bad as it sounds. It’s—hm. No. It’s worse? It’s… It’s difficult. We still don’t fully understand exactly what he’s been put through, but I can say with certainty that he has endured an upbringing unlike anything you or anyone else in Lucis has experienced. We’ve been doing what we can to help habilitate him and get him comfortable here in Lucis, but we have only been able to make so much progress on our own. With that in mind, we were hoping that, perhaps, if he were to interact with someone nearer his age, familiarity and comfort might come more easily to him.’

“So you are thinking I would be a suitable candidate for assisting him?”

He heaves a quick sigh and begins to look distracted again. “It’s proven complicated, to find just any child to keep him company. Most children his age are tactless and lack the sensitivity this needs to be addressed with. He doesn’t deal well with loud noises, or in-depth conversations. He—he can’t carry conversations very well at all.”

Cor pauses for a breath and seems to gather his focus. “I thought of how you were with Noctis, when he wasn’t so vocal. You have an unparalleled patience and intuition for someone your age, and our guest needs someone like that right now. Like you.” He takes another breath. “I’m not particularly zealous to put another task on your busy shoulders, but I’m—I’m concerned for his wellbeing. Please, tell me your thoughts.”

It’s quiet as Ignis muses. Helping look after Noctis was a difficult task with its share of pains and frustrations, but with it also came pride and a developed friendship that made much of his work with Noctis hardly work at all. He was glad for his time with Noctis.

But now so much of his time was devoted to assisting the royal family in Noctis’ affairs and preparing himself to become the best royal advisor for the young prince. Would he even be allowed the time to assist in a project outside his bounds?

“I am worried in regards to how this will conflict with my schedules with His Highness, sir.”

Cor nods with a short sound of acknowledgement. “Understandable. Noctis is, of course, your primary concern. I’m glad to see your priorities in line. However, I would like for you to consider how you could adjust your scheduling to spare some moments with our guest. Consider it another lesson in your future responsibilities. Sometimes, new priorities blindside us and we have to be able to adjust for them.”

“I don’t believe I’m allowed to reschedule my own lessons.”

He almost laughs. “We would inform your instructors of the unique situation and I will personally ensure that you are not reprimanded for any conflicts I cause. I want to assure you, we do not intend to leave the boy's recovery in your hands alone, and this task will not serve as a second advising position. Myself and a select few are tending to the more complicated aspects of his integration. We are just hoping to give him some healthier social interaction. We’re—well, we're not sure if he has interacted with anyone his age before.”

Ignis considers this. That’s right. They’re not asking him to tend to a second Noctis. This is just a kid that they want him to talk to, and already he understands how some children can be just too brash to deal with. If he were himself being rehabilitated into society, surely he would prefer someone like himself around. But he’s not sure what this boy wants, or what he’s like. He doesn’t know anything about him at all.

“Could I chance a visit with him before this is settled?”

And Cor nods. “Of course. Follow me, I’ll show you to him.”

From Cor’s office, they proceed down several halls in amicable silence, though Ignis feels his mind buzzing with a silent, curious energy. If Cor’s information was anything to go off of, this boy grew up in Niflheim. Did he grow up in the place Cor found him? Why would someone live in a place that Cor would go to on a mission? They didn’t seem to be making their way to leave the Citadel, so that means the boy is here. This has to be something very unique if they’re trying to keep this close of an eye on him. But what does that mean?

And suddenly Cor’s speaking again, but his stride is unstilled. “I’ll allow you to dictate your conversation with him as you please, but there are a few matters that would be best avoided for the time-being. First, I must request that you not ask him his name.” Already, Ignis wants to interrupt, but Cor allows no room for it. “I understand it is unconventional, but it is for more than just privacy’s sake. Our current understanding is that it’s likely he—that he may not have a name to tell us.”

Unbecoming to vent without solicitation at a superior, Ignis lets the confusion swim over him in silence. A kid without a name? Everyone he knew had names. How does someone just not have a name?

“And I would prefer you not try to push for it either” Cor went on. “The matter seems… very confusing and distressing to him currently.”

Reluctantly, Ignis nods.

Cor seems satisfied with that. “Additionally, I’ve said as much before, but do try to speak carefully with him. He’s responded poorly to spontaneity and loud noises. I know you tend to be collected in your manner of speaking, but I wanted to give you the heads-up regardless.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And one more thing. I’ve mentioned that he doesn’t carry conversation well, and, well, it’s more difficult than just a lack of vocabulary and poor socialization. You see, he hasn’t been able to speak to any of us. Uh, at all.”

Ignis’s eyes sweep up to Cor’s as they keep walking. “Pardon?” and another moment of thought, “He’s mute?”

“Perhaps,” Cor sighs, like there’s too much to say, and he has to pack it all into that one breath. “We’ve only been able to get him to nod and shake his head for communication so far. Frankly, right now you’re lucky. When we got him here all he could do was stare. We haven’t gotten very far with him, but at least you have something to work with here.”

“Hm.” Ignis nods and continues to turn this information over in his mind.

“Listen, I know this is a lot to deal with so suddenly, but please be as open to him as you can.”

“I’m not adverse to meeting him. I just think I ought to know what sort of circumstances you want me to accommodate. Not being able to speak changes things.”

“I guess it does,” Cor looks ahead. “But, listen, don’t approach this like a puzzle. You’re not being assigned to figure him out. We’re just… trying to do what we can to make all this easier on him.”

Ignis studies his face and in it sees an uncharacteristic tiredness. Cor always looks tired, but in an angry way that suits him. Right now, it’s something else.

“Is there something important about him? It seems strange that this is happening in the Citadel, under the advising of Cor Leonis no less.”

“Hm, please don’t think about it too hard right now,” Cor pats his shoulder and they stop just in front of a door. Another man stands beside it, but he only nods at Cor. Cor nods back, and then fixes his gaze on Ignis. “Just—see how you feel.”

-

The door opens to a guestroom, humbly-sized with a delicate amount of light diffusing in through the window. He could have considered the room to be vacant, for the only giveaway to the contrary was a vaguely human shape in the back of the room. There it rests on the floor tucked up against the bed, and over it a haphazardly situated blanket. A plush of similar downy softness sits anchored to the figure by wiry arms.

Owlish blue eyes watch him from under the blanket.

“Hello again,” Cor greets quietly, the voice softer to Ignis’s ears than he ever thought could be possible from The Immortal. “Do you remember when I talked to you about meeting someone younger like you? Well, this boy here is Ignis. I trust him deeply and I think it would be good for you two to become better acquainted. Would it be alright if he kept you company for a little while?”

For a moment, there’s nothing. Just wide eyes flickering back and forth between Cor and Ignis, but finally they settle on Cor and the boy gives a small, slow nod.

Cor smiles. “Good, good. I’ll give you kids some space then.”

He turns to move away and as he does the boy sits more upright with his eyes growing impossibly wider, and spindly fingers impossibly tighter on the yellow plush in his lap.

When Cor turns back around, his own eyes widen and his hand raises in assurance. “Hey, hey, no, I’m not leaving you alone with him. I’ll be over here in this chair, okay? I’d just like to see how you feel about Ignis, and for him to get acquainted with you. Try to focus on him. You’ll be okay. I’ll be right here if you need me, and you can come over to me at any time, alright?”

He stays rigid as he processes the words until, slowly, the fingers locked around the plush loosen and he gradually sinks back down with a slow nod.

And then those eyes were back on Ignis.

“Ah, hello. I am Ignis Scientia.” The words come out reflexively, as does the accompanying bow. “You can call me Ignis. I’ve heard a little bit about you from Cor, but it is nice to meet you properly.”

He is only met with silence, and staring eyes. But he immediately assures himself not to get discouraged. Of course introductions would be difficult for someone who cannot introduce their own self. So, he continues.

“There’s not much we can discuss under these immediate circumstances, but I think it would be nice for us to keep one another company. And, speaking of company, I see you have someone soft and yellow there.”

Ignis gestures to the plush in the boy’s arms and he looks confusedly back. He looks to the soft bird, then back to Ignis, and then lifts the plush with something unspoken in his eyes.

The expression is absolutely quizzical, but Ignis can’t deduce exactly what the boy is trying to get at. And if asking directly wasn’t going to get him anywhere, he may as well just try to keep the conversation flowing.

“Yes,” he says. “It’s a chocobo. They’re very endearing. This one is a plush recreation, but, believe it or not, the real ones are just as soft.”

He sits a little straighter at that and studies the plush more closely now, petting it gently.

Ignis smiles at the distant memory of running his fingers along a chocobo's feathers for the first time. The experience ought to be a staple in every childhood. “Have you ever seen a chocobo before?”

He looks at him then. And looks back down to the chocobo. And then he pauses. Almost in a literal sense. All of his movements freeze, with only a slight movement of his eyes betraying him as they darted around between different insignificant points of the plush. What could have been just a brief moment of faltering thought became a drawn-out stretch of silence, with the boy’s eyes too-focused and hands too-tightly-threaded into the chocobo’s dense fur.

Ah. So this must be something. This was why he was hoping for some more information from Cor. Maybe it was too much to ask such a question. But still, this much of a reaction to a question about chocobos? Perhaps the question needed to be repeated, or perhaps he needed to back out of it. Did he need to apologize? Pretend it never happened? But all those options felt disingenuous. Without Cor’s intervention, he allowed for the boy to come to terms with the question at his own pace. And hopefully, ideally sooner than later, he would get an answer.

And to his relief, finally, slowly, the boy shakes his head.

“Hm, I see.” Ignis nods. “Hopefully it could be arranged for you to visit some in the future. A lot of kids who live too far from outposts don’t get to see chocobos in-person for quite some time. It’s not unusual. Nonetheless, getting the opportunity to pet a real chocobo is something special.”

He nods at that, a little distant, but a little calmer now, and resumes petting the plush with renewed curiosity.

Ignis smiles at a sudden thought, and with one question navigated successfully, he allows himself another, “Did Cor give that to you?”

Much more quickly, he gives a small nod, and then ducks his face closer against the fluff.

Ignis can’t help but smile at the mental image. _The_ Marshal of the Crownsguard Cor The Immortal Leonis sifting through chocobo merchandise, testing the sturdiness of each plush, measuring their worth for this noble cause.

Which still begs the question, why is _The Immortal_ taking this habilitation task upon himself?

Ignis snaps back to attention when he sees those big eyes fixed on him again. Not expectant, he notes, but just… very staring. Like he doesn’t know what to think of Ignis.

“I live here in the Citadel,” he picks a random thread of information, and follows it wherever his thoughts travel, hoping to hit on _something_ that snags the boy’s interest. “I’m going to be advisor to the prince soon, so it’s important for me to learn and understand how everything works around here. Being in the Citadel familiarizes me with it. So I’ll know it inside and out by the time I take on my advising duties full-time. It’s a lot of work to do, but I find that it’s worth it. I was in an etiquette class earlier today. It’s a lot of fussy detailing and isn’t particularly useful outside of formal settings, but I’ve learned quite a lot about Insomnian culture and history through my lessons, and I find those intricacies fascinating. There’s a lot of things that are unfamiliar or strange to both you and to I, but we can learn those things, and that’s good. It takes time, but it’s good. So, I suppose, if you’re ever wondering about anything, or confused, and I guess if you ask Cor and he doesn’t know, you can always try to ask me, and I can tell you the answer. And, if I don’t know, then we can figure it out some other way. You don’t have to be confused forever.”

He stops himself there and tries to gauge the reaction from the other boy. His eyes are still wide and staring but very attentive and possibly overwhelmed. As if there’s too many possible questions fighting to escape him, and too many defenses keeping them locked in. It looks like he wants to cry. Or like he wants to speak.

But his mouth remains shut. His eyes remain open. And he gives a thoughtful nod.

Ignis gives a smile to that and suddenly there is movement from where Cor was sitting. Except now he is standing and walking toward them.

“I think that’ll be enough conversation for now. Kid, you’re looking a little exhausted. Try to get some more rest. And, uh, drink that water, please. And, uh, the bed is there. Uh, I’ll be back in a bit, so just relax until then alright?”

He nods slowly again and reaches over to a bottle and brings it into the grasp of his arms, awkwardly cradling the plush and drink.

“Come along Ignis,” Cor directs and then they’re both walking towards the exit.

The boy’s eyes are still thoughtfully wide and his attention is diverted from the water. His gaze is watching Ignis and now that he’s turned around their eyes are locked.

“Goodbye,” Ignis says, offering a smile and a wave of his hand. “It was nice meeting you.”

He doesn’t move, but he keeps watching, and Ignis watches too, until he and Cor are entirely out of the room.

Blue eyes are still watching as the door seals shut.

-

“You’re difficult to read, kid.” Cor is saying as they walk back to his office. “Well? What are you feeling?”

“I don’t know” Ignis says, and he means it. He’s feeling a lot of things. “He wasn’t able to give a lot of feedback. I’d feel better if I knew how he felt about me. That said, he seems pleasant. I see what you mean now, comparing him to Noctis. This is different though. More than not being able to speak, he seems to have trouble allowing himself to communicate certain thoughts at all. Are moments like that recurring?"

“Ah, I apologize for not intervening at the time." Cor shakes his head, but it seems more for himself than for Ignis. "No, this isn't the first time that kind of thing has happened with him. He’s had some difficulty responding in the negative. We’ve been working on encouraging him that a negative response is not an incorrect response, but it’s been a difficult thing to reassure. I was hopeful that he would be able to apply our discussions to your question. It took some time, more than ideal, but it seems he was able to succeed. It will take more work and encouragement, but I’m glad to at least see that the matter didn’t bring him instantly to tears.”

"Hm." Ignis really doesn't want to think about how sad that already-downcast kid would look with tears dripping down his face.

He _really_ doesn't want to think about it.

"I'm glad he's making progress then," Ignis says, forcing his thoughts forward. "I worry about how adequate of company I would be to him, but I’d still like to talk more with him. He’s confused, but if I could be the one to help him learn things about Insomnia, I think that would be an honor. I don’t know how he thinks or how he feels about listening to me talking to him—I know noctis has complained of my monotony—but I think… I think I’d like to get to know him more.”

He’s feeling a little uncertain, but Cor is smiling. “I think you're being too hard on yourself, and I think he feels just fine about you. That’s about as open as he gets with anyone right now. So, I think it’s good."

Ignis absorbs those words and feels them in his chest. "I see. Thank you, sir."

He scoffs a little at that. "I should be thanking you. Him getting to sit with you today, that was good. I really think he needed that, and I think it would be good to make a regular thing of it. I don't mean to uproot your whole schedule for the week, but is it going to be alright if I arrange for you two to meet again tomorrow?”

“I’d prefer to be notified by the evening what my new schedule is, but, of course, I would gratefully oblige, sir.”

And, again, he smiles. “Thank you, Ignis.”

Thereafter, they part ways, and Ignis is left with nothing to stop him from contemplating the quiet buzzing in the back of his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the end notes! As I mentioned before, I still haven't gotten to play the game, so my understanding of things might be off. For instance, I figured out during cursory research that Ignis becomes Noctis's advisor at 6, but you know what? In this fic he's 10-12 and he's still training to be entrusted with that title. Who would entrust a 6 year old with dictating the prince's schedule? Nobody I daresay! In this AU he has the position Jr. Advisor, with which he has a couple of consultants overseeing him and making sure he understands how to handle all his tasks, but he's going to be officially integrated into his duties when he's 13. Also, in this AU, Cor has an office. idk if Cor actually has an office in the Citadel. Can we pretend he does? He's a busy man. Okay thanks. 
> 
> If anything is ever too wrong to overlook as a minor AU adjustment, please let me know!
> 
> Also, I intend for this fic to be a little bit prompt/comment-based. I have a couple chapters almost done already, and there's some plot I want to follow, but ultimately this fic is a collection of circumstances featuring Kid Ignis and Kid Prompto being fluffy and coping with emotions. If there's anything you'd like to see them doing (say, for instance, Ignis playing the piano for Prompto! Aww!) then let me know! Fluffy or angsty, I'd like to hear if you have anything you'd like to see of this fic! No guarantees I'll write every/any prompt, but it's definitely something I want to take into consideration.
> 
> Also, also, casual reminder that this is really my first proper fic HHHH! I'm so nervous! Feel free to let me know if I'm neglecting any fic etiquette (except for the start and end notes being way too long because yikes ahahaha i see that. Just want everyone to be on the same page going forward!) I hope for your patience! Thank you again!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is shorter than what I would like it to be but it's as long as it needs to be, so here it is!

The meeting with the small human was—strange. He wasn’t sure what he expected when Cor told him he'd be meeting with someone more like him. Another MT would’ve made sense. But, ultimately, it was another human. Though, at least, it was unlike any other human he’d met so far. MT units could be small, he knew this, but he had never seen a human be so small. He almost wondered if, perhaps, it were a different, newer model of MT. But he seemed far _too_ different to be an MT.  And he spoke like humans. He said he was _Ignis_. Not _a_ Ignis, or _the_ Ignis, but just… Ignis. Humans were like that, where each unique model was called by a unique non-numeric code with no discernable patterns between them. It was strange not to make this distinction with numbers.

In the labs, there were much fewer distinctions to be made between humans. There were the Guards. The Researchers. The Instructors. And that was about it. They each had individual designations amongst themselves, as humans do, but it was never anything he had to consider. And now, he has to remember Aedis, Cor, Clarus, Dustin, Filius, Gravis, Majesty, Mara, and Monica in a continuing list of new and important designations. And now there’s _Ignis_.

He thinks about the small human again and consults the soft object in his lap. He thought perhaps its only purpose was to be soft, but now, thanks to Ignis, he thinks he understands it better. It is a _plush recreation of a chocobo._  

He doesn’t understand _plush_ and he doesn’t understand _chocobo._

But he understands _recreation_. And, from context, he understands that this is a model of a chocobo. So, it is a model of something that exists in a different context, but is also soft. It’s a strange looking thing to actually exist, even as this object, which makes him more inclined to see what the genuine object looks like, and how accurate the model is to it.

He rotates the model chocobo. It is still absurd and functionally useless, but holding it in his arms puts a warm feeling in his chest that he’s never felt there before, and maybe that isn’t useless. Therein, he supposes, is the function of the model chocobo. It is soft. And makes him feel warm.

Next, he consults the water and frowns. This again. Cor has been instructing him to drink a lot of this lately. In a surprising twist since leaving the labs, he was actually familiar with the substance when presented with it. It’s water. They used water in the labs to deal with hygiene and custodial maintenance. But he’s never seen it in a bottle before and he’s never been made to drink it before. Water was for external use. Cor insisted on him drinking it though, saying he needed to stay “hydrated”, so he drank and drank. It didn’t have any lingering taste to it like the nutrient drinks they were provided in the labs though, so that was at least a pleasant surprise. He was used to the feeling of the mixture clinging to his mouth and throat for too-long stretches of time. But water seems to wash away the lingering taste of anything. Like an internal cleansing. So perhaps water serves a similar internal purpose as its external purpose. Despite this analysis, he is reluctant to try drinking soap. Cor hasn’t made a point of telling him to, so he doesn’t.

He doesn’t want to drink more water, but Cor told him to keep drinking water. So he drinks. Cor’s been giving the command more frequently ever since he unintentionally shut down the day prior. It was an unprecedented malfunction and should have sent him to immediate decommissioning, as it should have been many times over at this point, but instead his systems were evaluated and he was told to drink water. Maybe water is a punishment. It feels like it pools too high in his stomach, sloshing uncomfortably if he moves too much. He was accustomed to having three designated periods of drinking each day, but now it seemed he needed to be drinking on nothing less than an hourly basis.

But before it had become too much, it felt—nice. The inside of his mouth felt the way metal looked when water rushed over it and took every other substance away. He can still focus on that feeling, and it makes drinking the water easier.

He drinks what he can and closes his eyes. Cor’s assessment of him was correct; he’s been feeling so tired. His duties today involved a lot of walking and a lot of humans trying to talk to him and trying to get him to talk back. He didn’t understand why. He still doesn’t understand. This keeps happening and it doesn’t seem like it’s going to stop any time soon.

His chest aches at the thought and he holds the model chocobo tighter.

The door makes a sound suddenly and he feels his whole body jolt, feeling like he wants to cry. He suspects the sound is Cor entering the room, since coming here it has almost always been Cor if he were not already present, but an intangible fear flares through him anyway. To his relief, his assessment of the situation proves correct, and Cor is stepping into the room.

“Hey there kid, how are you doing?”

He blinks up at him.

Cor’s expression changes. “Right. It’s an impulse for me to ask, sorry. But I _am_ going to have to ask for an answer about how that meeting went. Tell me, did you feel comfortable around Ignis?”

He doesn’t understand what Cor is sorry about, but he understands the requisition for an answer. He thinks. It still feels strange that Cor keeps asking him about what makes him _comfortable._ It really shouldn’t matter. But he keeps asking. So maybe it does matter. But it _shouldn’t,_ not really.

He thinks though, and considers the small human. He’s been introduced to several humans over the last few days, and Ignis was similar to them, but also different. All humans were, of course, different from one another, but Ignis was small, in a way that made him think of himself. And he talked to him about the soft object. And didn’t ask him so many questions. And didn’t look upset. And he talked about being confused, and about acquiring information. It sounds like Ignis might have more data to share that could fill the growing gaps in his understanding. He thinks then that it might be nice to meet Ignis again.

Finally, he nods, and Cor seems pleased with the response.

“Good. I’m glad. I’d like to have it arranged for you two to meet again tomorrow. Would you be okay with spending more time with him?”

He thinks. He still doesn’t understand why Cor is requesting his feedback if it’s something he wants him to do, but he’s beginning to lose hope of ever fully understanding the things Cor asks of him.

He nods. And Cor’s smile stretches further across his face.

“That’s great.” He says, and that’s great. 

He walks a little closer and puts his hand on his head and it moves a little from side to side. The thick fabric of the blanket acts as a barrier between his hair and the hand, but he feels the warmth of it nonetheless. “That’s great,” he repeats, and adds, "You're doing great." He isn’t usually swathed in the blanket when Cor does this, but it feels just the same. Warm. He still doesn’t understand why Cor does this, and he doesn’t understand why it doesn’t hurt, but it doesn’t hurt, and he’s so content with that. He’s not sure if he’s ever felt a hand without the sensation of pain or apprehension sprouting from it. Not before Cor.

The feeling of the warmth disappears from his head and it seems like Cor is about to leave the room, but then he stops and waits.

“Hey… you—you can sleep in the bed, you know? We all want you to be comfortable and rest well. Uh, shit, uh, hm… does laying in bed hurt?”

His eyes try to find solace in the _plush recreation_ in his lap, and he feels like his breath is stuck. They’ve gone over this several times now. He knows he can tell Cor that the bed doesn’t hurt, that he has to answer Cor, but Cor thinks the bed might hurt, and it hurts his stomach to tell Cor that it doesn’t. That Cor is wrong. But Cor isn’t wrong, he’s the one that is wrong. He has to answer Cor but he can’t. He can’t. Bad answers were always bad. Nothing good comes of it. It hurts to answer wrong. It hurts to answer anything. It—

“Hey, hey now,” Cor says, and it’s enough to snap his thoughts from looping back around themselves again. “it’s—it’s okay if you don’t like sleeping in a bed, but—” but he says it like it’s not okay to dislike sleeping in a bed. “If you feel pain, I want to know about it. Does it hurt when you lay down?”

It’s too direct to not respond to, and so, finally, he allows himself to shake his head, and Cor nods and says “okay”. It’s not as good as when Cor smiles, but it’s not angry either. So it’s fine.

“But… something about the bed makes you upset.”

It’s phrased like a statement, but he’s learned from listening to Cor that he also means this like a question. Cor wants a response to this. It’s a strange way to ask a question but it is at least a little easier for him to oblige now.

He nods and holds the plush recreation tighter.

Cor looks upset at that and briefly he’s expecting that his answer was wrong, but nothing comes of the anger and it seems to dissipate from Cor in an exhale.

“I wish you could talk, kid” he says, and his voice sounds so tired, but then he suddenly looks very awake. “That’s—that’s not your fault, don’t start thinking I’m mad at you. I’m not. You’re doing fine. I just—gods, I just wish I could hear your reasoning. I want to understand. And I want to make it better for you.”

For once their feelings on the matter are fairly mutual. He wants to be able to explain the problem to Cor. He wants Cor to understand, and he doesn’t understand why Cor doesn’t understand, or why Cor keeps bringing this up. It feels wrong to feel like he’s disobeying Cor by not sleeping in the bed, but it also feels wrong to be surrounded by such a soft surface, and to just lay there. He doesn’t belong in beds. He belongs in pods and on tables. He’s so sure beds are only for humans. But he doesn’t want to go back to pods. He doesn’t want to lay on another table. So he sits on the floor.

He opens his mouth, breathing in, feeling like maybe he could communicate at least a portion of this to Cor, but he knows he can’t, shouldn’t, and ultimately just exhales the breath and his mouth falls shut.

“So maybe we can try to find a compromise,” Cor is saying suddenly, reaching across the bed, and grabbing one of the pliable sacks of softness from its surface. “Can you rest your head on this? It might feel better than having your head on the bedframe or the floor. Can you try that?”

His hands are full of chocobo model and water container, so he can’t reach out for the object himself, but his eyes are fixed to it. He breathes in, and finally nods.

Cor smiles then, and there’s something lighter about his expression. “Okay. Yeah, good. Thank you. I’ll, uh, put it here for you then. And, uh, yeah, you can sleep on that. Sleeping while sitting up like that is bad for your back. Try to get some rest for now and I’ll be back when we can have dinner. And, uh, we can see how you feel about the pillow. Rest up, kid.”

And after that, Cor leaves and the door is closed and he’s alone. It’s not unfamiliar. It’s one of the only things he experiences in this new place that feels any bit familiar. But being alone in a space that is this large is strange. Not painful, but—strange. Like there’s so much more room to breathe.

He doesn’t know what to think of Cor’s description of later. He doesn’t know what _the_ _pillow_ is yet, so he supposes they’ll be introducing it to him after dinner. Perhaps it is related to eating as well, like _spoons_ and _straws_. And those were considerably harmless, so maybe the pillow will also yield a mild experience. 

He hopes so, and his cheek presses down into softness. The plush recreation feels soft in his grip, and, focusing on that, he attempts to will himself into stasis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if it'll be directly acknowledged later, but basically every time they've tried to put Prompto in a bed he starts crying to himself and slides out of it when they're gone. It's too much for him! :(


	3. Chapter 3

Ignis’s schedule for the day is altered in an unfamiliar way that makes some nagging part of him uneasy, but he also cannot bring himself to be frustrated about it. More than he’s willing to admit, he’s interested in meeting the child stranger again, and the possibility of maybe getting some inkling of an understanding as to what brought him to the Citadel with these circumstances.

And so, the moment he’s excused from this finance management session, he finds himself in front of the room where he met the boy. A guard stands fixed to the left of the door, and Cor is already waiting for him on its right.

“Good afternoon, Ignis.” He says.

“Good afternoon, sir.” Ignis says with a bow of acknowledgement, though he hopes it doesn’t appear noticeably awkward while he’s carrying the stout box in his hands. He aims not to address it. “Is he ready?”

“It’s debatable,” Cor shrugs. “But anyway, we’ve gotta get going with this. It looks like you have a plan?”

“Yes, sir.”

He nods. “Well then. Let’s get to it.”

And Cor pushes the door open. The room is relatively unchanged from his last visit and he even finds the boy in much a similar position as he was before. Seated on the floor, shrouded in a blanket, and chocobo seated in front of him. He does somehow seem more awake this time.

One hand unclenches from the bird, and suddenly, face neutral, he’s waving at him in small quick motions.

“Oh, hello,” Ignis smiles and offers a quick wave of his hand before gripping the edge of his box again.

“Ah yes, he didn’t understand what you did yesterday, the—” Cor waves his hand. “—the waving. We talked to him about greeting and farewell customs a bit. Salutations, y’know? I think he thinks it’s still strange, but. Well. He seems to find it worth knowing. And I’d be damned if I didn’t say it makes me happy to see him embracing it.”

The boy’s eyes shift from Ignis to Cor, and then he’s doing the small wave again.

Cor smiles over at him and waves in kind. “Hey, kiddo. I’m gonna let you sit with Ignis for a little while again, alright?”

He nods a little, but suddenly it seems unfocused. And then, Ignis realizes, his eyes are fixed intently on the box in his grasp.

“Ah, yes, this,” Ignis acknowledges as he walks over to the boy and sits beside him. “I thought it might be worthwhile to try a puzzle. It’s a quiet game, but I find the process very rewarding.”

His body makes no movement to that, but his eyes keep flickering between Ignis and the box.

“Hm, have you done a puzzle before?”

He keeps looking between Ignis and the box until his eyes fix on Ignis and his lips press into a hard line. His mouth opens and it sounds like he sucks in a breath, but then it’s shut again. His head goes to the side and it’s almost like a shrug. But it isn’t, not really. He doesn’t look confused, but he seems unsatisfied with his own response.

“Hm, maybe we should get a look at it first,” Ignis says.

Slowly, he pulls the lid off the box, cardboard casing worn soft from repetitive use, and therein lays the scattered sections of a one-hundred-and-fifty-piece puzzle. He picks a piece from the box and holds it in front of the other child’s gaze. “Does this kind of shape look familiar?”

He stares intensely at it for a moment and then back to Ignis. Then back to the piece. Ignis wants to just hand it over to him, but his arms are still anchored around the chocobo, and he makes no move suggesting he’d reciprocate the offer. Instead, they are quiet and he just stares at it, trembles a little, until, ultimately, he shakes his head.

“I see. That’s okay. It’s a strange shape, isn’t it,” Ignis says, placing the piece back amidst the pile. “But that’s part of the appeal and its deliberate design. Here, let’s have a look.”

He pushes the box on its side and carefully empties all the pieces onto the floor. But, despite the softness of the impact each weathered piece allows, the boy still startles a little as they scatter. Ignis thinks to console him on the matter, but the shock seems to dissipate almost immediately, leaving only his usual owlish demeanor. Unprompted on the matter, he redirects his attention to the puzzle.

“Each piece in this box is unique,” Ignis explains, reaching out for two at random. “The goal of the puzzle is to fit the pieces with the matching parts together. You can’t force pieces to fit together if they are not matched. Take for instance these two,” he holds up the two pieces in his hands and taps them lightly together, showing how the rounded sections overlap and don’t allow intersection at any arrangement. “They won’t fit any of the other’s slots. But, somewhere in this pile, there are pieces that will make connections to these slots and notches. So, essentially, each piece connects in a specific sequence, and, when you put every piece together, the result is that the colors and patterns on the surface of the pieces will produce an image. So our goal is to find where each piece is supposed to go in order to put the image together. Would you like to help me with that?”

At the sound of the question, blue eyes snap to attention and it’s quiet. He steals a glance at the pile, as if contemplating his stance on the strange shapes, and then settles on Ignis’s eyes as he gives a permissive nod.

And Ignis smiles. “Excellent. Let’s get to work then shall we?”

He starts sifting through the pieces, already pinpointing the shapes from common groups and picking them out from the chaos of colored panels. He sees no reaching movements from the boy beside him, but he can see how the tilt of his head is following each motion of his hands.

“There’s no wrong way to solve a puzzle,” Ignis says as he continues his slow sorting of the pieces. “You could pick any random piece to start from if you wanted to, and simply connect the rest of the pieces by branching from it. But there are some fun strategies you can apply to make more sense of it.”

He gestures to a small pile between them. “One strategy is to sort them by color or patterns. See these two pieces? They are both the same shade of green, which means it is likely that they will be near each other in the final image. So, even if they don’t fit together, it is smart to consider that they might be correlated.”

The boy leans forward a little and nods as his eyes flicker across different points in the pile.

Ignis consults the mess and produces another piece of interest. “Also, a piece like this,” he touches its straight edge, “is a border piece. Meaning it, well, goes somewhere on the border. Because of the placement of the hard line on this piece, we can deduce it will go on the left edge. And a piece like—” he fishes quickly for another and holds it up. “Like this, is a corner piece. Because it has two edges which fits it into a corner.” He places it down. “Sometimes it helps to understand where the boundaries are first before tackling the rest of it, or to grow outwards from it. But, as I’ve said, there isn’t really a wrong way to go about this. We can just take our time and figure out how it all pieces together.”

He’s nodding, his gaze on the puzzle thoughtful, and so Ignis lets himself focus. He works slowly in order to give the other a chance to make contributions, but otherwise it feels just like another calm session with a puzzle. The air is calm, the room is still, and there is only the subdued shuffling of puzzle pieces sliding across one another and the deeply satisfying muffled clicks when a puzzle piece fits just snugly into place. And Ignis allows this calm to persist, until he becomes more consciously aware of the room’s stillness.

In his peripheral, Ignis can see those blue eyes attentively trailing his every decision with the puzzle. His expression isn’t distressed or bored or confused. In fact, he doesn’t look like he feels uncomfortable at all as he watches the puzzle pieces being shifted around. But Ignis addresses him anyway.

“Ah, if you just want to watch, that’s okay. But if you would like to try to fit some pieces together, that would help me too. You are free to participate.”

His eyes widen a little at that, and then he’s studying the pieces again. Ignis lets himself continue slowly while waiting for a decision from the other.

His hand shakes a little as it unlatches from the familiar yellow plush, but he reaches for a piece, and then he’s turning it over several times in his hand. He continues to look uncertain of it, even as he places it in the middle of their field.

And Ignis smiles. “Yes, we can work with that.”

-

The boy manages to try placing down a few more pieces, but he seems reluctant to match any together. Mostly he puts them in an empty area and lets Ignis decide what to do with the wayward piece. In the end, it mostly becomes him watching and Ignis engaging the puzzle, and Ignis considers that perhaps he should have pushed the other to involve himself more. But he didn’t. There was something about their mutual silence that was agreeable. No more hands trembling, no patience thinning, no pressures, only a pleasant calm. 

As the puzzle nears its completion and the contents of the image become coherent, the boy’s eyes pay less attention to the movement of the pieces and instead focus on what they show. The image reveals a still-life painting which Ignis recalls fondly; _Clara Prandium Fasciculum_ by Luteus Conflabello. The artist was renowned for their ability to vividly portray complex arrangements of fresh food, with each piece being rich in color and always mindful of the lighting. In _Clara Prandium Fasciculum_ , the grapes seem to truly glow in the backlighting, and the glass beside them refracts the light onto the tablecloth, where it scatters like an intangible burst of confetti.

The work is considered a masterpiece, and Ignis has always been delighted to have ownership of it, even if in the form of a children’s puzzle. And now, once again, it’s nearly complete before his very eyes.

Only a few pieces remain to be connected and the pride of reaching the end of a puzzle already begins to wash though him, but, despite having arrived at the point where the location of the puzzle pieces is the most obvious, he observes that the boy beside him is still hesitant to engage them.

Ignis slides a few closer to his reach. “It’s almost finished now. Do you want to put some of the remaining pieces in place?”

Looking down, his lips press into a hard line, and he squeezes the chocobo a little tighter. It doesn’t look like when he’s struggled to shake his head, but it doesn’t look like he wants to nod either. Ignis frowns. He wants to help him enjoy the puzzle, but there’s something missing. Something he isn’t understanding and it’s stopping the other from allowing himself to put the pieces together.

“You are not obligated to, of course, I just want to assure you that you are allowed to participate.”

He nods, looking a little sad, and Ignis doesn’t know what to say to that. He certainly doesn’t want to think about being responsible for that.

But after Ignis starts moving pieces around again, the calm seems to wash back over him, and when the final pieces click into place, the bittersweetness of the atmosphere melts away entirely as blue eyes widen with fascination.

“Well,” Ignis slicks back his hair and lets out a triumphant huff. ‘’At last we have the sum of our work. What do you think? Do you like the image?”

He’s nodding rather excitably at that, and leans in to study the piece. Initially his eyes bounce around like a wayward spark, untenable and bright, but then Ignis notices him focusing in on specific details, lingering with a mixture of wonderment and curiosity.

“Do you, perhaps, recognize anything in this picture?”

There’s silence for a moment, and then it looks as if a small shock courses through him. But it’s different than his usual jolt of anxiety. It looks like realization.

His eyes seem to light up with it and then he’s looking at Cor.

Cor’s looking at his laptop. But, as anyone with his level of military sense surely would, his eyes catch on the motion and he’s looking up in the following instant. He assesses the look on the boy’s face, shifts to Ignis, the puzzle, big blue eyes, and then the confusion swims over him. “What?”

The boy presses his finger repeatedly down against the puzzle, and, without any further prompting, Cor pushes himself from the chair and moves across the room to half-kneel behind him. He’s still pointing at the puzzle.

Cor aligns his gaze to where the finger is demanding and his expression clears. “Oh. Yes. That’s. That’s an orange. All of those orange things right there are… oranges, yeah.”

“Does he like oranges?” Ignis asks.

Cor shrugs. “He hasn’t gotten to eat them yet. And I doubt he’s had them before coming here. I was eating an orange at breakfast though. So I guess he remembered that.” He sets his gaze to him, “That—that’s good. Good job.”

He looks at Cor blankly and Cor’s looking sheepish under the scrutiny, but then the boy is looking thoughtful again and points beside the oranges.

“Ah, and those are apples,” Cor nods to himself. “You remember apple sauce? Apple sauce is made of apples. So that’s, uh, what an apple looks like before it’s sauce. Yeah.”

The look he shoots Cor is almost disbelieving, and Cor looks worried that he’s going to have to speak at length about how apples get to being sauce. Ignis is more than a little convinced that the Marshal wouldn’t be able to explain the process beyond “It’s apples, y’know? You crush em.” But instead, almost as quickly as he’d turned, he’s looking back at the puzzle with newfound curiosity. And then, he points next to the apples.

“I don’t really eat those fruits, uh,” Cor shifts. “Ignis. Which is which here?”

“Ah, this one is called a nectarine,” Ignis explains, pointing to the fruit under the boy’s finger. “Further down over here is one that looks similar, but it’s called a peach. You can identify it by the lighter coloring here, and, if you were to hold a real one, a peach would feel a little fuzzy whereas a nectarine has a smoother surface. And a nectarine’s flavor is a little bit sharper than that of a peach.”

“Right.” Cor affirms. “That’s peaches and nectarines.”

The kid nods a little absently, eyes overwhelmed with thought, and his finger presses down on another fruit in the painting.

“Yeah, okay” Cor nods and settles himself more comfortably on the floor. “That’s a banana. It’s cut up into pieces here but it’s usually, uh, one long piece? And in a peel. Ignis, do you have any banana facts.”

“Well, there’s much that could be said about them. They’re an appealing bunch.”

“I said banana facts, not banana puns.”

“I have both.”

“Well then, please” Cor gestures to the slices emphatically. “Enlighten us.”

-

In the end, Cor and Ignis introduce every item to him. Even non-food items like the wicker basket seem to stir confusion, but what comes of it is a thorough lesson in some basic food concepts. Ignis explains how _Clara Prandium Fasciculum_ is a depiction of a late breakfast, albeit exaggerated, and how each of the foods could be adequate in forming a healthy breakfast. The boy seems a bit confused at the notion that the image has a name, but Ignis can’t muster up too much willpower to explain the delicate history of Old Lucian artistry.

Moreso, his thoughts are fixated on the boy’s unfamiliarity with all the food.

Cor said that he had an upbringing that was entirely unlike anyone in Lucis. That wasn’t too hard to grasp, especially if he was brought up in an aggravated location in Niflheim. It explained his skittishness, and something like not having seen a chocobo or engaged with children’s puzzles before was simple to make sense of. But being lost on the identity of every food? It was significantly less tangible. 

He could only hope that maybe, just maybe, he simply didn’t know the Lucian words for all the good fruit he’s eaten in his life.

But then he remembers Cor commenting how he’s surely never had an orange, and he tries not to correlate that with the rest of the food.

“I think that’s all we have time for today,” Cor says, and Ignis realizes he’s focusing on the screen of his phone as he pushes himself up. “I’ve got to get going. This was good though. Very good.”

The look on the boy’s face is tired, but satisfied, and he’s still looking at the painting.

“Then I suppose it’s time to clean up,” Ignis says and reaches for the corner of the puzzle, pinches the edge, and pulls.

The puzzle starts to lift like paper from the floor, but then the strain asserts itself in the seams of the pieces, and they begin to tear apart, and, as they do, blue eyes fill with panic.

The boy isn’t moving to interject, but his body leans forward a little and his eyes are nearly screaming their concern and confusion, and Ignis freezes in his motions, thinks, and collects himself.

“Oh, ah, my apologies, I guess this is another part of the puzzle,” He lays down what he can and tries to smooth out the pieces, but several sections have already come undone. The boy eases a little bit though. “After you finish a puzzle, it’s finished, so you are supposed to break it apart and return it to the box. That way, if you want to do the puzzle again later, the pieces are already separated and you can begin again. It would be irresponsible to leave it on the floor. Or, if we don’t put the pieces away now, we might accidentally lose them later, and then we wouldn’t be able to complete the puzzle again in future sessions. So putting the puzzle away is routine.”

He looks like he’s considering this information deeply as he focuses back on what remains of the puzzle. He pulls his blanket a little tighter around himself and the chocobo, and then resumes his usual watchful gaze, a little hunched over and uneasy. There’s something there that Ignis feels compelled to address, but it stays entirely intangible. He can’t think of any “yes” or “no” questions that can get to the root of why he seems distressed about putting the puzzle away, and that only leaves him to return to his work.

Unhindered, Ignis redirects his gaze to the puzzle and continues pulling the panels apart. The wide eyes affixed to him aren’t enchanted anymore, but he’s still aware of the unwavering way they follow his every move, a quiet curiosity under all that anxiety.

It only takes a few moments for Ignis to gather all the pieces back into the box, and then the lid seals over it once again. Cor is already by the door, tapping frantic messages away on his phone, and Ignis is sure he has no time left to spare here.

But he spares a moment anyway, and fidgets with the box in his hands.

“Hey…” the word comes out more slowly than he means it to. “Did you… like the puzzle?”

The stare boring into him is attentive, but there’s no discernable response in it.

So he continues, “If you—if you didn’t like the puzzle, we can do something else. It doesn’t have to be a puzzle again. But I have more puzzles. So please answer me honestly, would you like to do some more together soon?”

He’s expecting the slow hesitant shake of a declination, or even another blank stare, and with that he could assure the other that there was plenty else to do aside from puzzles, and that he needn’t be upset just because Ignis likes puzzles. But what he receives is a glimpse of blue eyes widening at the edges as he goes rigidly straight, followed by a slow but firm nod. It’s about as insistent as he’s ever seen him be.

“Oh—okay.” Ignis catches himself smiling at what he interprets as muted enthusiasm. “Yes, we can do that then. I will bring in a different one next time, and we’ll see what it makes.”

The boy relaxes back a little onto the floor and gives a small smile. That’s all there is, but Ignis finds he needs nothing more.

“Then, goodbye for now.”

It looks difficult for him to secure both the blanket around him and the chocobo in his lap with one hand, but he makes the motion work and waves to Ignis with the newly-freed hand.

A smile spreads on his face easily, and he waves back.

-

The walk back to Cor’s office starts quiet, with Cor himself absorbed in whatever crisis is demanding his attention in his phone, but Ignis feels the fires of a question burning through him, and he’s sure it’s going to destroy him in the night if he doesn’t get it out.

“Sir, do you know what kind of food he ate before coming to Lucis?”

Cor’s head lifts. “—What?”

“I—he seemed so confused about everything in that painting. Does he—does he not know _any_ fruit?”

Cor is silent and doesn’t stop moving forward, so Ignis doesn’t stop either, but everything else feels frozen. Ignis is the one who has to speak again.

“What was he eating in Niflheim?”

Their nations may be starkly different, but he knows they have at least _that_ in common. There has to be _food_ in Niflheim. Even if the conditions don’t allow for adequate growth, they’d surely have no trouble importing from Tenebrae.

People _eat_.

“I don’t know.” Cor says at last. “I thought I told you not to think too hard about this.”

“That’s my job, sir.”

“It’s also your job to listen to me.”

“…”

He drags his hand down his face. “Shit, sorry. I know this is strange, but I’d rather you not think of him as too different from you.”

“So you have no faith in me?”

His eyes narrow. “Don’t twist my words. Listen, I’m deeply concerned for the kid.”

“Do you not believe me when I say I am also concerned for him?”

“That’s not—”

“ _Cor_ , he didn’t recognize _a thing_ in that painting, and I don’t know what that _means_. I don’t know how many gaps exist in his knowledge, or why, and it’s concerning to say the least.” he feels his frustration boiling over and it stings in his eyes. “You can tell me to ignore it, and I can keep my mouth shut, but I won’t be able to stop thinking about what else he doesn’t know, and what kind of things he _does_ know as consequence. He looks so nervous all the time, _why is that?_ Is he eating now that he’s _here?_ Just _what kind of situation_ was he in before coming to Lucis?” 

Neither of them are walking anymore and Cor looks stunned and tired, but no sound accompanies it. There’s no arguing and quickly Cor’s phone is gone from his hands. He kneels in front of Ignis and places both hands firmly down on his shoulders, and, he still feels bitter, but it’s grounding.

“Ignis, you’re a good kid,” he’s saying, and his fingers tighten in their place.  “Listen, okay? He’s being taken care of. He’s safe here. He isn’t going hungry. And, no, he didn’t know all those fruits. But—now he does. And—and, soon, he’s going to get to try them all for himself. And—that’s good. And you need to focus on that, okay? You can think all you want about his past, but, right now, he needs his future.”

Ignis exhales, trying to steady himself.  “I feel like I’m missing something in understanding him, sir.”

Cor sighs. “It won’t help. Not right now. I can debrief you later if you really start losing sleep over it, but not—not right now.”

“I see…”

Cor stands back up and looks him over. “I just want him to have some normal company. He’s more relaxed when he isn’t being questioned about what happened. His time with you, I think has been some of his best. So please? Give him some time?”

He takes a breath in and releases it a little easier. “Of course.”

And Cor’s face smooths out a little with relief. “Thank you.”

They carry on walking again, and the silence becomes a little more amicable.

“So…” Ignis speaks suddenly. “Tomorrow?”

Cor smiles, “You’d be fine seeing him again?”

“I’d like to, yes.”

And he sighs. “Thank you. I’ll see to it then.”

Cor returns to his phone for a short while and the remainder of the walk back to his office is quiet, and Ignis nearly has the thought to dismiss himself and leave Cor to his duties, but he’s stopped when Cor addresses him and waves him into his office.

“One more thing.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Things are getting busy, between this and the crownsguard. I’m not always going to be able to be there when you two are together. I want to keep a guard posted with him for a little while longer, but you will be needing to mind him in my absence. You’ve done wonderfully with Noctis so I have no doubts in your abilities. But I wanted you to have the forewarning in the event something comes up soon. You’ve written reports before, haven’t you?”

“Ah, not many formal ones, sir,” Ignis admits. “I’ve produced many reports on minor and hypothetical events though for assessment purposes.”

“Well then, consider this another flexing of your advisorial duties. You know the drill for submitting reports?”

“Ah, yes, sir. Reports on—what exactly? My meetings with him?”

“Yes,” Cor nods, “They don’t need to be especially formal, but if you ever learn something important about him in my absence, I’d like to see documentation of the fact.”

“Hm, is that a breach of privacy, sir?”

He scowls. “No.” then, “—uh, not in this case. No, it’s, like, what if you find out he’s scared of cats? That would be a problem. If he’s scared of cats I gotta tell people to hide their cats.”

“I don’t think that’s the solution to that problem, sir.”

“I know, I know, but,” he’s saying, waving his hands around, and then, “ _Shit, I gotta figure out what he thinks about animals.”_ under his breath. He straightens up and eyes Ignis carefully. “You get what I’m saying though? If you notice there’s something he needs help with, or if there’s a way I can help him, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

Ignis breathes and gives him a smile. Of course Cor Leonis would try to break the concept of _concern_ and _caring_ down into something so militaristic. “Of course, sir.”

And he sighs. “Thank you Ignis. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Hide all the cats, evidently.”

And he almost laughs. “Yeah. That’s right. Every last one.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Approx 2 months after publishing, did some edits and what was once my least favorite chapter is now my favorite and I hate everything else bahahaha go figure

When Ignis had said he wanted to do a puzzle, the result was not what he had been expecting. _Puzzles_ in the labs served as a subset of _tests_ which measured the reliability of an MT’s mind and ability to interpret different complexities of patterns. Puzzles were always very brief and comprised of simple shapes or numbers. In the case of shapes, they would need to be moved, bent, selected, or removed to achieve certain goals. Succeeding in a puzzle meant not having to do the puzzle anymore. Failing the puzzle meant a jolt of pain followed by a repetition of the puzzle. 

He’s always been adequate with puzzles, but he still remembers each of his failures, and knows better than to go risk inciting them again. But Ignis wanted to do a puzzle, so.

He did nothing when he opened the box.

But the puzzle Ignis brought was nothing like the ones he’d known. He was used to puzzles on screens, but this was something starkly different. Every piece was tangible; the parts strangely shaped and equally strange in their coloration. Each shape had unrecognizable patterns on their surface, with their reverse side being entirely brown and dull in comparison. He’s still not entirely sure if the un-patterned side holds any significance to the shapes, but it’s the one thing they all have in common.

While not elaborating on the un-patterned side of the shapes, Ignis had explained the parameters of the puzzle, and had proceeded to demonstrate them. However, he noticed that whenever Ignis failed to place a piece with its match, he would not recoil and the puzzle would not reset. He would set the piece aside and consult the remaining shapes again at a pace of his own making.

It was so strange. A long process. And slow. And calm. 

It was an unfamiliar feeling, but hardly unpleasant. Without the pressure to get the sequence correct every time, or the need to complete the puzzle within a designated time limit, he could focus on its simplicity. He could internalize the quietness of the room, the soft sounds the shapes made along the floor, and the calculated motions Ignis took in his process to complete the task.

Being alone in this big room sometimes allowed him to be calm. In it, there was room to breathe. It was quiet, he could move, or he could stay as still as he wanted to. There was a powerful calm to that, one which overwhelmed him to tears his first night alone in the room. Watching Ignis work on the puzzle was also calm, but in a different way that yielded a feeling he didn’t have a reference point for.

He wasn’t alone, and there wasn’t total silence. Ignis was there, Cor was in the chair, the puzzle was quietly coming together, and it was, for some reason, good. Nothing bad was happening.

Given more time to think about it, he was sure he would have started to cry.

But then Ignis had requested him to participate in the puzzle, and that had his thoughts scattered. He couldn’t imagine volunteering for a puzzle. Not when he had to be so wary of the potential for consequences. But this puzzle didn’t seem to have consequences. Even now, the thought of a puzzle with no consequences seems strange. Reflecting on it, he supposes Ignis finds his own calm in the lack of threats the puzzle poses. Which is understandable, but it didn’t explain how adamant he seemed about gaining his involvement in the process. It was just more unfamiliarity to contemplate. MTs didn’t help other MTs with their puzzles in the labs. The purpose of puzzles was to assess the abilities of _one_ MT at a time. Adding a second would only dilute the results of both. Such a process would be inefficient. Similarly, having a human help an MT with a puzzle would be entirely implausible. And an MT helping a _human_ with a puzzle didn’t even make sense as a hypothetical. Humans didn’t do puzzles.

But there it was. An unfathomable hypothetical that Ignis was attempting to enact, and seeing its potential with his very eyes didn’t make it any easier to understand. Ignis was excelling at the puzzle he set for himself. Even if assistance was allowed, it was clear he didn’t need it. So then why?

But Ignis wanted him to participate. And there were no punishments in the puzzle, so then maybe he really could.

But maybe it meant only MTs were punished for failing puzzles. He’d never seen a human engage in a puzzle before, afterall.

All the data he had told him that the optimal decision would be to sit still and not engage the puzzle, where his likelihood of remaining unpunished was at an ideal ninety-five percent. But he wanted to believe that Ignis wouldn’t initiate a shock if he failed, and he felt so sure that Cor wouldn’t step in himself to deliver a correction, and maybe he was letting his hopes stand in the way of self-preservation, but he let himself reach into the pile, challenge the smaller odds, and take hold of a piece.

 _There’s no wrong way to solve a puzzle,_ he remembered Ignis saying, and it’s a statement that still sounds wrong, but he resolved not to question the parameters that Ignis set.

So he placed the piece down.

And nothing bad happened.

He’d managed to apply a few pieces to the field in that puzzle, and measured the response of each of his actions, but he’d found no discernable consequences for them. Ignis would eventually return to those pieces and locate the designated place for them, but he wasn’t reprimanded for not having done it himself. If Ignis was getting the puzzle done anyway, if felt confusing and unnecessary for him to move the pieces around. However, there was also something strangely satisfying to it.

No, it didn’t feel right to think of it as an indulgence.

But he found himself unconsciously engaging the puzzle anyway. Mostly, he kept his hands locked around the plush recreation where they felt secure and familiar, but his eyes greedily surveyed the pile and latched onto matching patterns. Sometimes, his vision was refined enough that he could discern an exact match to a corresponding piece, and there was something satisfying about that: the knowledge that he was able to find a match despite the odds. And then he would feel something quiet and warm unfold in his chest when Ignis would finally match the two together. Between pairing the pieces in his head, and watching Ignis’s process, he was perfectly—something. It was yet another feeling he lacked the words for, but it felt as if something warm and intangible were flowing through him, simultaneously powerful and quiet.

He didn’t want it to end.

Surely that was a dangerous thought. To want to work eternally on a puzzle. In a cold room in front of a screen, moving hands and eyes so quickly it hurts. But if it were this, being warm, with Ignis and Cor and no assessments, then. Maybe.

But it stopped feeling warm when Ignis addressed him again with a request to move pieces into the sequence. It reminded him of all his previous reservations and confusion towards engaging the puzzle, and he still didn’t know how to address it. The notion of interrupting Ignis’s efficient process with his own contributions felt wrong, and it felt worse to _want_ to participate in a puzzle. But he _wanted_ to. But it hurt to even consider.

He couldn’t explain himself to Ignis, and that left him with a hollow feeling. Ignis said he was allowed to choose whether or not he participated in the puzzle, a choice he’d never been given before, and he wasn’t receiving penalties for declining. But it still felt like betraying his very purpose. What good was he if he wasn’t following instructions.

But Ignis’s instruction regarding the end of the puzzle was open-ended in its structure. It had two viable actions: do or don’t, and both were signified as correct. It didn’t make sense, but it was at least something he could work with.

He didn’t put any pieces together.

He did, though, get a better grasp of what the purpose of this strange puzzle was. If it were not designed to be an assessment tool, then perhaps its purpose was to laboriously display images. It’s inefficient for that purpose, but he still felt as if their work for the image in that puzzle was worthwhile. It made him wonder if the longer you spend on a puzzle, the more visually pleasing it becomes. Perhaps that is why Ignis was working slower on it than he was capable of, and why all the puzzles in the labs were flat and cold.

The image the puzzle produced was warm in its coloration and filled with objects he’d never seen before, and he thought perhaps they weren’t intended to be depictions of anything real at all.

But then he saw the orange object. 

And it looked just like—

It was something Cor put in his mouth and ate. A two-dimensional representation of that.

And then he learned it was called an “orange”. He’d then expected the thing next to it to be called a “red”, but he was told instead, “apple”. So only the orange was named for a color. He learned “nectarine”, “peach”, “banana”, “grape”, “grapefruit” (different from a grape, which is also a fruit even if it doesn’t have the word “fruit” in its designation), “lemon”, “basket” (not for consumption, but for storage and transport), “strawberry”, “bread”, “jam”, and “egg”. Even with cursory information on all the items accompanied by some visual context, it all still felt confusing, as if the information was too big to be handled by any of his processors. Perhaps he’d never been fitted with a reference bank of “fruits” and their qualities because it would take up too much space that could be used for more efficient processes.

But there he was thinking about fruits anyway. And he wished he had known them sooner.

It eventually occurred to him that it was a strange thing to wish. But, before that, he continued to assess the image produced by the puzzle. It was interesting, how he could recognize the orange as the object Cor ate that morning, but it didn’t look like a real orange, not really. It had the shape and the coloring of the orange, but the distribution of those colors was like nothing he’d seen in life. It was as if someone had the ability to capture an image from sight and drain it of its dullness, and all that was left was the pleasing parts of what was seen. And so, it made it especially pleasing to look at.

But contrary to its pleasantness, he learned then that puzzles weren’t intended to stay together. No, he supposes he knew that already. When Puzzles were completed in the labs, they disappeared. He shouldn’t have expected any different here, even if the puzzle had already been so different.

But he didn’t want to see the image crumble away. Even as it separated, and Ignis returned it to its storage unit, he could still feel his mind trying to piece the sections back together, connecting them with invisible threads where he still saw connections despite the distance. But then the box was sealed, and the puzzle was contained, and so was _Clara Prandium Fasiculum_ , an image so pleasing that it had a name.

It still existed though, he told himself that. Just in pieces. And, hypothetically, it could be pieced back together again in the future.

So when Ignis asked him if he wanted to do more puzzles with him, he had to consult that feeling. It didn’t make sense, to want this, but there was an intangible and growing thrill to it mixed with an all-encompassing calm, and if doing more puzzles with Ignis meant sitting beside him, watching him, and seeing more vividly colored images.

Then the answer to his question was simple, and he’d managed to at least somewhat communicate his interest in the continuation of seeing the puzzles.

And he’s so thankful that he did.

-

Each day following that meeting, Ignis continued to bring new puzzles to the room. The first puzzle produced an image consisting of food, of _Clara Prandium Fasiculum_ , but he quickly found that not all puzzles of this kind yield food imagery. For instance, the puzzle Ignis brought that following day revealed a very different image with a new combination of bright colors he’d never seen together before.

When Ignis said “See? It’s a chocobo,” he reached out to touch the puzzle followed by a momentary disappointment. He’d wished it would feel like the plush recreation. But he realized that this was not, itself, a chocobo. Rather, it was an _illustration_ of a chocobo. So a two-dimensional recreation. But Ignis explained that this representation of a chocobo was visually more accurate to the real thing. Aside from being completely flat and not tangibly soft.

But it _looked_ soft.

There was an illustration of a human beside the chocobo that gave a sense of scale. The human didn’t look small, so he assumed they were of the standard height. If that were the case though, then it would seem that real chocobos are—big. Much bigger than the plush recreation, which unfortunately revealed its flaws as an accurate model. He can’t bring himself to appreciate the plush recreation any less though. As an object, it is more compact—convenient—and it’s still so soft, with every part of the chocobo being simplified and smoothed over so it lacks the sharp edges the image seemed to possess. It makes it ideal for holding and being soft. He’s beginning to consider again that the purpose of the soft object is not to be a recreation of a chocobo, but moreso to be soft, and ideal for holding. In which case, it is very good at being what it is. 

He himself though, he’s not sure he’s very good at being what he is.

He is an MT Unit. And MT Units are designed to follow orders. He’s been trying, but he feels confused all the time. And, now that he’s in this new place, when he thinks he’s following orders, he learns that he’s executed them wrong. Or, more often than not, the questions don’t make sense, and that results in failure due to his own incompetence. He doesn’t understand why they ask for his name. He doesn’t understand why they want him to act human. He doesn’t understand why they want him to speak. He shouldn’t speak. Anything they want to know, they can just find the answers by consulting his files or doing a direct data transfer. He doesn’t understand why anyone would ask him to make a sound. It hurts to even think about. 

Here, everything is harder and more confusing to understand.

But not worse.

Definitely not worse. 

He _wants_ to understand. He wants to prove that he can, and this is why he’s all the more thankful for all the puzzles Ignis brought with him. They’ve continued to be slow, calm endeavors with interesting imagery to assemble, and in those images he’s been able to find new things to understand. For instance, the chocobos. But also in another vividly-colored image which depicted a variety of what he learned to be “flowers”. Just like in the way that there are different kinds of metals, like steel, iron, and copper, there are different kinds of flowers, like _tulips_ , _lilies_ , and, _roses_. Their colors in the image were so bright, and he assumed they must have been depicted as exaggerations of the real flowers.

But these brightly-colored items seemed to be a recurring presence in these puzzles, and he suspects now that the purpose of flowers is to make an image brighter. His eyes are consistently drawn to the vivid colors, and he finds himself hoping that the real ones look just as bright.

It went like that for seven days. Sometimes Cor was there, and sometimes he wasn’t. On the day of their fourth meeting, it was the first when Cor said that he wouldn’t be able to stay with them, but that he would return to retrieve him in an hour’s time. He didn’t mind being alone in the space, but he never liked the notion of being alone in a room with another human when Cor wasn’t there. They would always ask him questions he couldn’t answer, and the space would feel cold, and he would always wonder if they were planning to recommit him to his tests and modifications.

But at least they haven’t yet.

Ultimately, he didn’t resist Cor’s plan for absence. He was, of course, an MT unit, and it was his design to accept Cor’s will, but there was also the feeling that, maybe, Ignis would not harm him. No human in the labs was as small as Ignis, or as nice. His time with Ignis had only been pleasant, and it would only make sense that their time together would continue to be calm even with the absence of Cor sitting in the chair. So, he let the meeting unfold, and his hypothesis had been confirmed as correct. It would have been better if Cor were there, but it was also good with just Ignis. It was very good. 

Today had been another one of those days, where Cor told him that there was something he needed to do and that he could not stay. It was easier to just nod with it now and let Ignis come sit beside him to commence the meeting. He always notices that Ignis doesn’t try to grab for a blanket whenever he sits with him and he wonders if Ignis ever gets cold, or if he doesn’t know about how soft the blankets are, because, if he knew, then surely he would be wrapping himself in them too. But Ignis seems to know everything, so that mustn’t be it.

Despite that, the meeting was as calm as usual. Ignis moved the pieces around at his own pace, and he himself even mustered up the courage to snap one of the parts into place. Shakily, perhaps, but still accomplished. Ignis had looked at him with an expression that was wide around all its edges, and he was at first startled into thinking it was a mistake to engage the puzzle, but then he saw Ignis's lips curved up into a smile and his eyes brightened up in a way he hadn’t seen in him before. It made him wish he’d connected a part of the puzzle sooner.

It was as if every piece he placed wasn’t just a step in finishing the puzzle, or involved the risk of being reprimanded, but rather as if each yielded their own reward, and the reward was the satisfaction of seeing another section of the puzzle completed. And also Ignis’s smile.

It was the most painless puzzle he’d ever engaged.

When they completed it, Ignis had said “You’re really good at puzzles.”, and he’s still thinking about it now. He knew he had adequate skill in puzzles, but hearing it from Ignis was something different. He also said, “You find matches quite quickly, it’s really impressive. Noctis and Gladio don’t have as much of an appreciation for them. They find the process too slow and non-engaging. It’s nice to work with someone who feels positively about the process.”

Yes. He couldn’t deny that, not seven meetings worth of calm. Even if his whole body still felt apprehensive at the correlated thought of his old puzzles, the process of these new puzzles was pleasant, slow, and easy. They could take all the time they wanted, and it was good.

He couldn’t let the words out to tell Ignis as much, but he did let his lips curl in a small smile for him, and he received one in return.

Today’s puzzle was another that featured chocobos, and, like the puzzles preceding it, it also had a name: _Flavo Aves Meridie_.

“You seem to like chocobos,” Ignis had said, “so I found this one, and hoped you would like it too.”

And he did. He liked it so much. Even more than the ones that had come before it, and that just had him all the more disappointed when the image was being pulled apart to return the puzzle to its container. But, before that, he got to admire the bright yellow creatures that were scattered against dark, soft green, and the small _flowers_ speckled throughout. In this illustration, the chocobos appeared even softer than in the last, and, in this image, there was more than one. He still remembers exactly how many there were:

Twenty-three.

Twenty-three splashes of yellow crowded into the image. It made something in his chest feel soft and he consulted the chocobo recreation at its usual place in his lap. It wasn’t the real creature ( _a bird_ , Ignis had explained, how _chocobo_ is a _bird_ as a _tulip_ is a _flower_ ), but it was a satisfactory compromise. The image in the puzzle was flat and lacking in texture, which made the plush recreation more favorable to his touch. He still feels almost painfully thankful for its presence, and still does not know how to express his gratitude for it enough to Cor. 

Eventually, Cor had arrived in the room to remove Ignis, as had become customary. And, given the later time of the meeting, he knew to expect he would be alone for between one and two hours before Cor would return to collect him as well. In the meantime, he could rest. This is how all of these meetings have gone. They would last for about an hour, and then they would end. It’s been fine, incredible even, but, now that he’s thinking about it, maybe one hour isn’t enough.

It’s a selfish thought. He knows it is as soon as thinks it. But he can’t help but wonder if it were possible to incorporate more time with Ignis into his daily schedule. Perhaps by decreasing meetings with Gravis. Replacing an activity yielding no gains with one that enriches him would surely be a better application of resources for everyone anyway.

He keeps thinking about it, and keeps thinking about how much more he could learn from Ignis’s puzzles.

The door creaks and he jolts.

“Huh, are you awake?” Cor’s at the door, and he looks surprised.

He blinks a little and nods back.

“Huh. Okay,” Cor walks into the room and stands by him. “I thought you might take a nap. Feeling restless?”

He thinks about that. Usually when Cor leaves for longer stretches of time, he’ll take the time to let his processes fall into a muted state where he doesn’t have to focus on anything. It’s an opportunity to feel calm. But, today, a stubborn process in the back of his mind has been running through thoughts of puzzles and of Ignis from the moment he left. He got close to it, to where he felt distant and slow like time was moving forward without him, but his thoughts were too occupied to stop. It would be irritating if it weren’t for the bright feeling it set inside him.

He nods and stands up. If Cor’s here now, then it means they are going to move to another room.

“Huh.” Cor says, and then, “Okay, let’s get dinner.”

So he nods, and parts ways with his items of softness. It doesn’t feel good to leave them here, but it’s more practical to do so. Monica had explained to him: if he ate around the blanket and the plush recreation, they would risk getting dirty, so it would be better to leave them in their designated room to preserve their quality. The thought of tarnishing them in any way that would reduce their softness makes his chest tighten uncomfortably, so it’s an absence he’s been willing to cope with.

He still gets to bring them when he sees Aedis though, so there’s at least that. Cor had briefly mentioned that the blanket and plush recreation were objects designated for the room with the bed, but Aedis told him he could take them with him wherever he wants. He doesn’t think it’s possible for Cor to be wrong about the assignment of the objects, he’s the one who gave them to him afterall, but he thinks it’s possible that Aedis understands how soft they are in a way that most humans don’t. But Aedis isn’t wrapped in blankets when he goes to see her, so maybe she’s not understanding it either. He wraps himself in the blanket whenever he can.

But now it’s time for dinner, and not time for feeling soft.

Dinner means walking a few rooms over to a space that is about the same size as the room he sleeps in, but it doesn’t have a bed. Instead it has a table, more chairs, and unfamiliar equipment lining the walls with only the sink being identifiable. When first brought here, he’d thought for sure this room was some kind of unconventional lab, and maybe he’s still right about that assessment. Only, here, in this lab, they don’t make MTs. They make food.

“Hey Monica, thanks for doing this,” Cor says when they’re stepping in, and starts guiding him to the small table. “I don’t know the first thing about making a healthy meal.”

“It’s no trouble, Marshal,” Monica smiles from where the equipment is and she’s working on something. “I’m just finishing up. It should be good.” 

“Smells good,” Cor affirms, and sits across from him at the table.

It sure does smell—something. He’s learned that food tends to smell like this: strange, strong, and assertive. The foods he eats, like the broth and apple sauce, have more subtle smells that he needs to lean close to take in. But the food that the humans eat fills the entire room. It feels like it’s in him without even eating it.

“Then good thing I made enough for everyone,” Monica grins wider as she carries two plates to the table and places one in front of Cor and one in front of him. When she brings a third plate to the table, the food is the same and she places it in front of herself.

He stares at the human food.

Monica takes a deep breath. “Okay, I know this is going to be hard, but we’re going to try to start easy.” she says and gestures to the plate in front of him. “This is called rice. There’s some seasoning for flavor and nutrients, and some small bits of meat in there, because we need you to start eating solid foods. Because we need you to be eating enough so you stop passing out.” 

He stares blankly at her, and then looks at Cor. 

“I’m not a great cook,” Cor shakes his head. “But Monica’s pretty good at making food edible. It should be good.”

His eyes slide back to Monica, to Cor, then drop to the food. He can smell it so clearly. He can’t describe it as—bad—but it’s everywhere.

“It’s kind of like eating apple sauce,” Monica says, shifting some of the rice from her plate onto her fork. “You scoop some up, put it in your mouth, and _chew._ Chewing is when you bite your teeth down and break the food into smaller pieces, got it? Do that, and swallow, and then you’re eating solid food.” 

She puts it in her mouth and she’s eating it, but he doesn’t understand how he’s supposed to do that.

She swallows. “Cor, demonstrate.”

“Me?” Cor sounds startled, looks across the table, and then to his rice. “Uh, okay, yeah.” He moves some of the rice onto his fork. “Uh rice.” He puts it in his mouth. “Chewing.” He says and it sounds muffled and strange as the words work their way around everything in his mouth. And then he swallows. “Done. Easy.”

Cor’s instructions feel even less complete somehow, but he doesn’t think it’s going to get any easier. He takes a deep breath in, lets it out, and picks up his fork.

He’s only used spoons and straws so far. The fork feels strange in his hands, but so did the spoon. So perhaps there would be nothing to worry about afterall.

The fork scoops like the spoon, so that’s easy enough, and the food parts are big enough that they don’t fall through the gaps, so it’s fine. He’s sure he can make it work.

He puts the fork into his mouth, pulls the substance off from it, and—

There it is. It sits on his tongue and he knows he has to _chew_ it. It doesn’t slip around his mouth the way that water, broth, or even apple sauce do. It sits there like a weight, and he has to do something. He just wants to swallow it down, but it feels too thick to swallow.

So, he presses his teeth against the substances and feels them give way to the force. He feels some of the parts of the rice break in half under the pressure, but the meat only seems to flatten a little. He can’t see it, so he can’t tell if he’s doing this right.

He bites down again, and one more time after, slowly, but not much is changing. He thinks maybe this is it, and just makes the effort to swallow it down.

It’s rough. Reminiscent of swallowing pills, but as if he has to take them all at once. And he’s intended to repeat this process until there is no more rice or meat on the plate. It’s too much. He doesn’t understand why humans don’t just pack all of their nutrients into a drink.

“Oh,” Monica looks uncomfortably at him. “You should chew more than that. You need to bite until it feels easy enough to swallow.”

He frowns, nods apprehensively, and tries to make the best of his second chance. He takes another, smaller, forkful of the rice and chews on it carefully. He holds it in his mouth a little longer this time, chews a little longer, and the smaller portion goes down a little easier. But it still feels heavy. 

It’s a weight that sits in him. It stays and it doesn’t move, and he doesn’t understand how it’s supposed to help.

He takes another scoop, puts it in his mouth, chews, and swallows. Does this again. And then again. And then he puts his fork down.

The smell is in his nose and the taste is all over his mouth and he can feel it all the way into the back of his throat. It’s piling higher in him and it’s not going away. Monica and Cor are both watching him and their expressions are unreadable. He doesn’t understand what they’re trying to measure with this.

He swallows again as if it will help make the taste disappear, but when his throat clenches it only reminds him of all the places the rice has touched.

It doesn’t feel good that Cor is watching.

“Uh, Monica, he’s looking  kinda pale.”

His body leans to the side of its own accord, and everything in his stomach falls out through his mouth.

“Shit!” he can barely hear over the sound of his own retching, but the voice sounds like Cor, and that just makes his stomach upturn itself more. This isn’t right. This isn’t what he’s supposed to be doing. All they told him to do was eat the food.

It feels like the food is still in his mouth, in his throat, and it makes him cough desperately, but the coughing doesn’t make the discomfort go away. The flavor is still everywhere, and now it’s mixed with an acidic bile that makes him want to keep purging the contents of his body until he can’t taste it anymore.

He’s vomited before, so he knows that’s not how it works, but it still leaves him with the impossible desire to scrub the inside of his throat clean. He’s never vomited from nutrient intake before so he deeply doesn’t understand why this is happening. Maybe he really isn’t compatible with human food.

As soon as he regains his autonomy back from the error, he forces his coughs down and clasps his hands over his mouth. This is terrible. He can feel the tears starting to drip out of his eyes but he’s determined to keep them at just that. Quiet. The room had just been filled with the sound of his coughing, and now it’s also tarnished because of him. He only hears frantic tapping sounds now and something that sounds like a blend of voices, and at least it’s not him anymore, but it doesn’t change at all what he’s done. There’s no way he’s getting out of this room without being disciplined.

“Kid, are you alright?” The words suddenly focus in his ears, and he sees Cor bent over a little with an expression that looks confused and angry. His voice is loud.

Of course he isn’t alright. There’s no chance that Cor _didn’t_ just see him purge everything in his stomach onto the previously white tile. He wishes that he didn’t see it, but he did, and there’s no denying it. So he doesn’t understand why he’s asking.

“I’m so sorry, I really thought he would be okay with it,” Monica is moving towards them from a direction he didn’t even realize she was stood in, and there’s something in her hands that he can’t make sense of. “it’s a light meal, I eat it when I’m sick sometimes.”

“It’s not your fault, thank you,” Cor says, as Monica puts the object in his outstretched hand. Closer now, it looks like a rag.

He looks back to the mess on the floor and feels fresh tears forming in his eyes. They probably want to clean this mess up before dealing with him. It would only make sense for him to clean up his own mistake. He’s already building the resolve to accept the rag from Cor when he feels something touch his shoulder and he jolts away from it, before realizing it was Cor’s hand. His eyes feel too wide and it feels like he’s breathing too quick and he keeps staring at Cor. 

He can’t figure out what the look on Cor’s face means as he lets out a short breath and takes a long one in. “Kid, come here, let me clean up your face,”

He doesn’t move. He feels like if he even tries he’s going to do something wrong again. He couldn’t handle it if he did.

Cor moves forward instead and puts a hand on one of his shoulders and it makes him flinch. His body's memory tells him the hand should push him fully to the floor to deal with the mess me made, but instead, as it always is with Cor, the contact is only firm and reassuring.

“Come on kid, move your hands away for me.”

He’s reluctant. He doesn’t want anything else to fall out of him, and he feels like this is the only way he can make sure of it. But the thought of disappointing Cor further feels even worse, so he slowly pulls his fingers apart and away from his mouth.

“Okay,” Cor speaks lowly and starts to move the rag towards his face. “Hold still for a bit, okay?”

It’s the first command he’s thankful to oblige. He doesn’t want to move. He wants to sit still and keep himself from ever doing anything wrong again.

The rag comes into contact with his cheek and he tries not to flinch. Cor _just_ asked him to hold still, and he can do that. But the rag doesn’t feel like how he thought it would. It feels moist and cool, but it also feels clean and non-abrasive. Cor added pressure as he moved the rag down his face and around his mouth, but there was no discomfort. It didn’t hurt at all. And that didn’t make sense. He certainly deserved as much after what he had done.

“That wasn’t your fault, it’s okay,” Cor says, still wiping his face, and it makes even less sense. “We’ll take care of this and you’ll be okay, alright? So you don’t need to cry.”

He knows he shouldn’t be crying. He’s trying not to cry. Cor then takes hold of his hands and starts to carefully wipe down the palms. It still doesn’t hurt, but he presses his lips tighter together because he can feel the tears starting to drip down his face again.

“I mean it, it’s okay. I’m sorry,” Cor says, and it doesn’t make sense. This isn’t okay and Cor shouldn’t be sorry. “You don’t need to eat right now, okay? You’re gonna lay down, and you’ll be okay.”

“I’ll take care of the mess, Marshal,” Monica says, and she’s holding another rag in her hands. “Give him some water to rinse out his mouth.”

“Yeah, okay.” Cor’s nodding and he stands up fully, but he keeps a hand intertwined with one of his. “Come on kid, let’s get you some water.”

Cor pulls him along to the sink, not forcefully, and it doesn’t hurt his shoulder like he thinks it should. He allows his legs to move accordingly, but he’s feeling absent from his own body. He thinks he should be back on the ground. Cor’s filling a glass with water. Why isn’t he dealing with him?

“Swish this around and spit it out into the sink,” Cor says as he holds out a glass to him. “It’ll get rid of the taste.”

He sees the glass in front of him and knows he has to take it, but his hands are shaking. He thinks his whole body might be malfunctioning. He’s so scared he’s going to drop it. He doesn’t want to put anything else in his mouth. He doesn’t want to drink the water, even if he’s being told to spit it out again. His vision gets blurry and he thinks that’s about to break too. His head shakes back and forth of its own accord, and when he blinks he feels wetness trailing down his cheeks again.

“Oh. Oh no, hey, no, shit, don’t cry,” Cor puts the glass down and he’s speaking quickly as he kneels down again. This time though, he gets much closer, and then Cor’s arms are entirely around him. But that’s all he does.

Cor just instructed him not to cry, but he’s crying. The tears keep falling from his eyes and, to compensate, he tries to hold every other part of himself still. His lips are pressed firmly shut and he can feel his body straining not to vibrate. It’s hard, but he does it with some kind of inkling of hope that Cor won’t punish him for the crying on top of everything else.

“You’ll be okay, alright?” Cor speaks again and his voice comes out different. “We can figure this out later. You don’t need to worry about it, okay? It’ll be fine.”

He keeps holding him, and it feels warm and solid. This is where a punishment should be occurring, but instead he only feels warm, and he’s not sure if this is supposed to be it.

When the tears start to dry up, Cor pulls back and his eyes look shinier than they did before. He drags his hand across his face.

“Come on,” he says. “You should rest.”

Cor pulls him along and he absently follows until they’re in the room with the bed again. Cor has him sit on the bed and holds him again, and some part of him thinks it feels nice, but most of him can’t feel it at all.

Cor wraps the blanket around him and he can’t feel that either.

“Just try to get some sleep right now,” Cor sounds so tired suddenly and touches his hair before standing up. “We’ll figure out what to do about food later.”

And then Cor is gone, the door is closed, and he’s alone in the room again. It doesn’t feel like anything. 

Slowly, he slides off the bed and sits on the floor beside the plush recreation and puts his hands to it. It still feels soft, but the feeling inside him doesn’t come with it. 

He shifts to lay with his back to the floor, and stares at the ceiling, feeling painfully hallow. And, like this, he waits for stasis. Or for discipline. Whichever comes first.

He almost hopes it’s the latter.

He doesn’t know how long he can cope with wondering when the punishment will hit.

And maybe he deserves that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally the scene of Prompto throwing up dinner wasn't going to be in there at all! It was only going to be alluded to in the next chapter. But then I astral projected out of my body and said to myself "Hey, if I were reading this fic, I'd want to know what happened there." and I agreed, so I wrote down the scene. Now this chapter is huge ahahahaha. I'm not entirely satisfied with it, but these are the thoughts I wanted to get down, so. There they are. A little bit ineloquent, sorry.
> 
> Hope y'all like it nonetheless!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A piece of this chapter was posted as a WiP and y'all's feedback/support has been deeply motivational thank you ;---; Now the chapter is, like, three times as long so good luck! If you read the first section the first time, I would recommend reading it again anyway because a lot of details have changed
> 
> Also, leaving the note about my absence in the end notes in case of any stragglers wondering what's up with that.
> 
> Hope you enjoy the chapter

Cor had scheduled their next meeting for the morning, which Ignis has found himself more than pleased with. Spending large portions of the day thinking about what kind of meeting he would have with his newest acquaintance has proven to be unproductive and, as he found, unavoidable. Unless, of course, the meeting was to occur first thing in the morning. Then, it would be right down to business.

So, he pulls a two-hundred-piece puzzle from his shelf and makes his way to the boy’s room.

He feels an uncharacteristic lightness in his chest, but, before he gets the chance to contemplate it, he sees the look on Cor’s face and it simmers out.

Cor is hunched over a little on the wall beside the door, and in his hand is a ceramic mug. Cor usually has that in his office, reserved for his regular fix of tea or coffee. But no steam is rising from the vessel.

He takes a drink from it and then there’s a smile on his face as his eyes settle on Ignis, but it looks far from an easy movement for him. “Good morning, Ignis.”

“Ah, good morning, sir.” Ignis falters. “Pardon my saying so, but are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Cor grumbles and drags his free hand over his face. “Yeah, we had a long night. Listen, Ignis, I’ve got some work to do right now, and it’s probably better that I handle it in my office. You kids will be okay sitting on your own for a little bit, right?”

“Most likely,” Ignis nods cautiously. “Is he alright? Did something happen?” 

Cor shrugs. “I don’t know.. We tried to see if we could get him eating something solid for dinner last night, but he hacked it right up, and he’s been a bit out of sorts ever since. I think he’s thinking too hard about it. I keep telling him I’m not upset, but—I don’t know. I’m really hoping you can distract him from it.” 

Ignis takes in a breath to steady himself and to steel himself for the uncertain. “I can do my best, sir.”

“That’s all I ask.”

-

Ignis walks into the room and finds the boy securely fastened to his chocobo plush, as normal. It’s to be expected by now, and yet the entire scene feels off in subtle ways. The blanket that has dutifully enveloped him during their every meeting lays crumpled up around him, and the look of his eyes and demeanor seem more detached somehow. The stillness of the atmosphere brings no comfort.

“Hello again,” Ignis greets him as he makes his way across the room. It feels as if his presence leaves ripples as he passes through the stagnated space, and he feels too loud, but the boy remains rigid in his spot, and his gaze remains distantly fixed on the floorboards. 

It’s a troubling look to say the least.

Ignis breathes. “I’ve brought another puzzle with me. Is that something you’d like to work on together?”

He doesn’t get a nod in response. There’s nothing to even suggest the boy had heard what he’d said at all. When Ignis puts the box on the ground, the boy doesn’t move; when he sits beside him, there’s nothing; and when he stares at him with all the hope he can muster, he doesn’t look back.

A frown overtakes him. Noctis would get like this sometimes when he was younger, when he was especially upset or distressed over something. He would shut down completely and Ignis would be there for him until he would open up enough to start speaking on why he was so upset. Sometimes they would just share the same space in silence, sometimes he held his hand, and eventually he would ease out from it and find the will to speak again. But, in the case of this boy, no amount of patience and kind words would be able to undo his silence. So, what could he do? 

He clears his throat and, with few options at his disposal, settles to begin with a direct approach. “I, ah, heard that you experienced some difficulties last night. Are—are you alright?”

Nothing again. He’s just holding onto the chocobo like it’s the only thing he can do.

Ignis weighs his remaining options and, in determining no better course of action, he lifts a hand and begins a careful trek toward the boy. He hadn’t even had the opportunity to initiate so much as a handshake with him just yet, and not knowing how he would deal with the physical contact made him uneasy, but this was something that had always proven helpful in grounding Noct, so, perhaps, here, he could do the same.

He feels the softness of fabric first, and then, beneath, the pointed shapes of a shoulder. It flinches against the touch almost immediately, but, just as quickly, he’s motionless again without even the suggestion he’d been disturbed.

It’s a reaction that spreads a creeping unease through Ignis, clawing at him to dwell and think on it, but he resolves to keep his focus on his task. He reaffirms his grip, carefully. 

And then he sees it. A glistening in the boy’s eyes, and the way his lips bend in a strange, uneven line, but no sound escapes him. There’s only thick drops of water spilling from the corners of his eyes when he blinks.

Arms so wrought with tension suddenly lose hold of their captive chocobo and the plush goes tumbling a short distance to the ground, but its displacement seems to be the least of his concern. He pays it no mind and instead his hands rise to the sides of his head where he holds his temples. He doesn’t sob, but he continues to cry the soundless tears.

“Hey—” The word feels colloquial and strange on his tongue, but without a name to address the other by, he is unable to address him directly. It makes him more conscious of the way his throat is starting to tighten. “I… I know this is going to be hard, but I want to help you, so I need you to help me do that, alright?”

He knows there’s no actual question there for the boy to answer, but he’s hoping for some sign of acknowledgement anyway.

He doesn’t get one.

He shifts. “You’re very distressed about something, and I won’t be able to figure it out on my own. Can you help me understand? Maybe with gestures? Your hands?”

Suddenly, Ignis finds himself pinned by the gaze of swollen, watery eyes, and though there’s a hint of relief at having finally received some form of response, the look is heartbreaking. He’s sure his eyes are going to start burning if they hold eye contact a moment longer, but just as soon the boy turns away and unfastens his hands from his head, studying them.

There’s a worrisome tension in his fingers as he flexes them, and then he moves to cup his throat, squeezing his nails into his neck for a moment that feels sickening regardless of how brief. But quickly his fingers lift to his eyes and press over weary lids. He presses down on the sides of his head, pushes against his sternum, touches his shoulder, seems to stop and consider for a moment, and then touches both of his shoulders. He clenches them and the criss-cross of his arms squeezes his chest. Tears squeeze out from his eyes, and then he unfolds, presses his neck, touches his shoulder, touches his eyes, and fixes a pleading look onto Ignis. 

Ignis was hoping this would be easier to decipher.

“So… I don’t believe I’m going to be able to figure all of it out, but we can start with something.” Ignis says and scoots in front of him. “You touched your shoulder a couple of times. I was touching your shoulder a moment ago. Did you dislike that?” 

There’s a pause, and there’s clearly too much he wants to say, but slowly he settles on a shake of his head.

Ignis wasn’t expecting that to be the case, but he feels a quiet relief bloom at it. “Alright. That’s fine. You see, I did that because I believed it could be helpful. When my friends are upset, sometimes they appreciate the feeling of something like a hand on their shoulder. It is a way of offering support, physically and emotionally. I hold Noct’s hand when he cries, and he has done the same for me. And, of course, I’d do the same for you, if it would help you feel better.”

He pauses, then adds, “But, of course, if you wouldn’t feel anything good from it or if it makes you uncomfortable, then I don’t want for you to endure it. Would you rather me not touch your hands?”

There’s, again, an unheard dialogue stirring only between the boy and his own head as he stares at his hands and blinks through more tears. But then, shakily, he lifts one hand a little and extends it forward.

Ignis feels his eyes widen as he registers the motion, but he forces a calm over himself. In order for this to work, he must establish a mutual calm, not channel out his own high-strung energy. So, carefully, he takes a breath and moves his hands out toward the one extended in front of him, placing one hand on either side to secure it. 

The moment his fingers touch to skin though, it jolts against him, and Ignis feels the reciprocal instinct to completely withdraw his hands, but then it registers how the boy has once again gone still. He searches his eyes for signs of discontentment, but, again, there’s nothing telling.

Cautious, Ignis returns his attention to his hands to better secure and establish his grip, and gauges the reaction. He startles again at the movement, but his eyes are unreadable, vacant behind clockwork blinking and fixed on the point where their hands meet as if waiting expectantly.

He turns his attention down to their hands, where his fingers are still trying to get an ideal grip. But he finds himself, in the moment, distracted. At the closer distance, he can see, tucked nearly out of view beneath a sleeve, the lines of a bandage swathing his wrist. He might have seen it before, it might have seemed reasonable and inconsequential, and maybe he hasn’t been thinking about it, but now, with the memory of the hand flinching against his grasp so fresh, he’s keenly aware of it.

“Ah, I-I’m sorry, does that hurt?” He asks, overwhelmed suddenly at the notion of aggravating the boy’s injury of unknown severity. He’s about to apologise more profusely and withdraw altogether, but then the boy is shaking his head and, despite Ignis’s suspicions, there’s no sign of pain. He looks… tired, but thoughtful and indifferent.

“I see…” he murmurs, wondering if he could be hiding his pain, but the lack of any evidence to suggest it leaves him nothing to hinge his suspicions on. He lets his shoulders fall and speaks again, firmly, “But if it feels bad, you can pull your hands back, alright?”

His eyes are still a glassy sheen to his eyes, and he looks worn out from it, but he gives a slow nod of acknowledgement, and the contact of their hands doesn’t seem to make any of it any worse. So. 

So Ignis nods, gives a small “Alright then,” and goes on.

He squeezes gently and there’s another flinch, but, as he’s learned to suspect, it’s the same, and the tension gives way to static calm. Another shift of his hands yields the same results. There should be some comfort in deducing that the reactions are involuntary and not a result of Ignis’s presence himself, but the fact that he flinches to the contact at all sets a heavy stone within Ignis, where he knows he won’t be able to dislodge it for quite some time. 

Determined to keep from dwelling, he focuses on the poise of his hands. They form a careful barrier around the smaller hand and press to the skin just lightly enough to avoid stirring apprehension, and closely enough to kindle a warmth that he can hold there. It’s the warmth that can only come from the touch of a cautious palm, and he can only hope it imparts the same degree of comfort as it does for him and Noctis.

There’s a degree of technique to it, lest his hands become sweaty and the experience dissolves into discomfort for them both. But he’s careful and moves accordingly, with only minor jolts when he moves too suddenly, except for when he begins to move his thumbs from side to side along his skin, because, at that, he’s shaking. 

Ignis frowns and stops suddenly. “I’m sorry. Does that feel bad?”

The tears that have been trickling slowly suddenly seem to compound on themselves and he doesn’t stop trembling, so Ignis is about to let go, but the boy’s head shakes quickly and his other hand jerkily moves from his side to cling to the other three.

And he holds on.

“Oh, a-alright,” Ignis gives a little smile and gathers both of the narrow hands into his and lets his thumbs slide along prominent knuckles, pressing on joints like delicate buttons. At that, swollen eyes screw shut, tears keep flowing from them, and his head ducks as he continues to shake.

But he doesn’t pull his hands away. Sometimes, Ignis even feels them squeezing back, and then the shaking gets worse, but neither of them withdraw. 

It goes like that for some time, Ignis allowing silence to blanket itself around them, and his hands to soothe the other until the trembling dissipates. And, eventually, it does.

It’s not perfect, but it’s a substantial degree better than where he was before. Satisfied with the lack of tension and confident in the stretch of time that distanced them from the more intense spilling of the boy’s tears, Ignis stills his motions and assesses his face. The owlish eyes he’s become so familiar with are swollen and red-rimmed now, and his face looks clammy with drying tear-trails, but at the very least Ignis can find solace in that he’d been able to siphon away most of the misery. He’ll take what he can get.

He adjusts his hands and carefully wraps them over and under the smaller pair to better frame them and gives a reassuring squeeze. “Thank you for trusting me. To cry. It’s difficult for most people to cry in front of others. But it’s healthy to be open with your feelings, and crying is a natural response we all endure, so… I appreciate having your trust in that regard.”

There’s a quiet, wet sniffing sound from him and a slow blink, but his gaze is still lowered and distant.

So Ignis takes a breath, “I’d still like to talk though. And better understand your situation and how you are feeling. And why you were crying. Will it be alright for me to ask you some questions?”

There’s a pause where he’s expecting another motionless silence that would require his own intervention to break, but a nearly imperceptible nod from the boy breaks it first. Relieved, Ignis nods in turn.

“Very well then, thank you.” He squeezes his hand, smiles gently, and proceeds, “You are free to cease answering at any time. It isn’t my goal to make you uncomfortable, but I am hoping to gain some insight into what’s happened. Earlier, Cor mentioned to me that you weren’t able to hold down your meal yesterday. Is that right?”

Maybe It wasn’t a good question to start with. Already he looks ashamed and like he might start crying again. But he nods. 

“I see,” Ignis starts and tries to rub soothing motions into the boy’s hands. “It’s truly nothing to be ashamed off. And certainly not your fault. Sometimes our stomachs reject food and, well… it happens. “ He gives an awkward shrug. “So… you had a nauseous reaction last night… are you distressed because you’re feeling guilty?” 

Again, a nod on the verge of tears.

“Well, like I said, it’s something that we cannot help,” Ignis says, and tries to distract him from tears by rubbing lines along his fingers. “It’s no fault of your own. Cor will just need to be more mindful of what he feeds you next time.”

Ignis feels like he’s going to make progress, but, at the mention of Cor, the boy wilts. 

He frowns, and considers. “Do you think that Cor is upset with you?”

He’s wrought with hesitation and his eyes are fixed off to the side, reluctant to meet Ignis’s own, but finally he relents with a short nod.

The confirmation makes something sink within him. “I don’t believe Cor holds any ill will toward you. Did he say something or act upon you in such a way that led you to that conclusion?”

He shakes his head slowly, almost, it seems, reluctantly.

“Hm…” Ignis pauses and considers this. “But you can’t shake the feeling that he is upset with you for not being able to hold down the meal, despite the lack of evidence to suggest he has such feelings.”

A quicker, though still-sluggish nod this time, and Ignis is already rubbing at his hands to soothe out the tension.

“I can assure you with near certainty that Cor isn’t upset with you,” Ignis starts, and squeezes the hands reassuringly. “If anything, it is more likely that he is upset with himself for having fed you something that resulted in such an adverse reaction. From what I’ve heard from him, he cares deeply for your well-being. And even that said, he isn’t the sort of person who would get mad at anyone over something like this.”

The boy doesn’t move, and Ignis has faith that he’s attempting to internalize those words. But the lack of visible reactions gives him nothing with which to gauge how well that process is going. 

He thinks, and settles himself into an uncomfortable thought. “Does… being with Cor scare you right now?”

The boy’s eyes snap to attention as if he’d been shocked, and at first he’s rigid with an unreadable emotion, but then he looks confused and contemplative. His head tilts a little and his eyes squint in thought, but there’s nothing definitive there.

It’s not a direct confirmation at least, but it’s not a denial either. “I am not attempting to imply that you should be afraid of him. I hope you wouldn’t think I’d suggest such a thing. But if your guilt is persistent and you are unable to rid yourself of the feeling that he may seek to discipline you on the matter, then we will need to discuss that. Do you feel like that is the case?”

His mouth opens and he draws in a deep, quiet breath of air while his fingers press closer into Ignis’s hands. The breath leaves the way it came, slowly and silently, and then his lips are pressed back into a line. He glances around the room, as if searching for cues to aid him in formulating an answer, but nothing comes of it. He looks as lost as before.

“Hm…” Ignis considers the movements. “Then perhaps… it is not as simple as a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer?” 

He doesn’t nod or shake his head, but he slumps dejectedly and his gaze drops to the floor.

Ignis is quick to squeeze his hands to attention. “There now, it’s alright. Such a response is not something to be ashamed of. This has always been a possibility, that a question would be beyond a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ response. We will simply need to adjust for the gap in our communication.” 

Ignis pauses to think on that. The boy still looks sheepish but Ignis’s assurances seem to have at least dispelled most of the shame that had sprung on him in the moment. Ignis looks around the room, considering his options, and when his eyes settle on the guestroom’s writing desk he feels a plan rapidly fall into place. 

“Are you able to write?”

The boy shakes his head to that, and Ignis lets out a small _hmm_. He’d expected as much. Besides,  certainly, if writing skills were something he were capable of, Cor would have already bridged that communication between them. It was too obvious a thing not to have been asked. Nevertheless, he knows he would be furious with himself if written communication had been an option the entire time and he had simply not bothered to ask. But now he knows that it isn’t. So.

He rethinks his approach. “Are you able to read?”

With hardly any time spent contemplating at all, the boy nods and Ignis feels his eyes widen in response. Certainly nothing about the boy suggested illiteracy, but with the information he’d been granted on his background,  he’s shocked to learn that he’d been educated at all. Perhaps a limited knowledge? Self-taught?

Only one way to see how far it extends.

He lifts his hands slightly and the other pair lifts with the motion. “I have something I would like to try, to make it easier for you to communicate your thoughts, but I will be needing to grab materials from the desk, and, in order to do that, I need to release your hands. Will that be alright?”

The boy’s eyes fall to where their hands meet and seem to absorb the implication of the words. He’s still for a moment, and the subtle jittering of his eyes suggest a desire to cling for his life, and for a brief moment the boy’s hands feel stiff in Ignis’s grasp, but soon his eyes close, he gives one more lingering squeeze, and nods. 

Ignis’s hands pull free, and there’s no resistance.

The look on the boy’s face, however, makes something in him ache. It’s a sorrowful expression that tugs at him instantly, but he steels himself. He has to. He. He’s only going across the room. And he’s going to be right back. And this is fine. He’ll be fine. This is going to be okay.

He offers a small smile to him, and it will have to be enough. “I’ll be right back,” he says, stands, and makes his way across the room, keenly aware of the way attentive eyes track his every step.

- 

After a quick search of the desk, well-stocked in its materials as expected, he returns with a pen and stationary pad and resituates himself beside the boy. There, on the fresh page of the pad, Ignis sets to work drawing a series of lines that the other’s eyes follow attentively.

The result is a small chart.

 

Ignis sets down the pen and pushes the hair from his face. “Sometimes people ask questions that invite ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answers, but, more often than not, the intensity of those responses can vary significantly. This is not a perfect compromise, but it will afford us some more flexibility with your answers.”

He points first to the left end, “We’ll be using numerical values to represent the degrees of intensity, with 0 being a definite no,” his finger slides to the far right, “and 10 being a definite yes.” He pauses and lets his finger slide back along its trail to a stop under the number 5. “In the middle, we will have a completely neutral response, one that is neither yes, nor no, or otherwise will be used to represent indifference. So using my previous question as an example, to respond to whether or not Cor elicits fear in you, you could indicate ‘6’ to express some minor apprehension, or ‘2’ to indicate a very slight feeling of the notion, or ‘5’ to suggest you haven’t thought about whether or not you are afraid of him at all. Does that seem feasible?”

There’s no response for a moment, but it isn’t the usual tense hesitation that often accompanies that silence. Rather, the boy’s eyes seem to be excitedly raking across the sheet, contemplating the chart and its possibilities. There’s a quiet buzz about him now and he points to the furthest-right end of the chart.

Ignis smiles. “Very well. Let us begin by returning to that question then.” He takes a breath, and it feels as concerning to ask as it did the first time, “Are you afraid of Cor?” 

The boy takes a slow breath and contemplates the chart, but finally he allows himself to point under the number ‘7’.

Ignis frowns. That result is, of course, infinitely preferable to an absolute ‘yes’, but there is still the disquieting matter of the boy harboring fear towards the man who is functioning as his caretaker.

“I see…” Ignis starts, and considers the response. “And… has he done anything to discipline you so far?”

Ignis doesn’t want to ask the question, doesn’t even think he _should_ need to. He would entrust Cor with his life, afterall. But loathe he would be to discover Cor were antagonizing the boy all along and he hadn’t been aware to do anything about it.

But, to his relief, after a moment’s thought, the boy rests his finger on the opposite side of the chart, under “0”; under “no”.

It’s one concern silenced, but there’s still a lack of answers.

“Alright,” Ignis nods, “But the trepidation is coming from somewhere… so… have others here threatened discipline upon you?” 

He considers the question, and moves to point to “2” on the chart. 

It’s not a declaration to being tormented, but neither is it a “no”, and Ignis can’t help but tense. “Is it those experiences then that have led to your concerns with Cor then?”

Almost immediately he’s shaking his head, then remembers himself and points to “0” on the sheet. 

Some of the tension leaves his shoulders. It’s probably something he should still address, at some point, but at least it isn’t what had the boy slumped in tears just moments ago.

“Then,” Ignis pauses and supposes this must be the most likely. “Are you afraid because of similar situations which led to discipline from before you arrived in Lucis?”

It takes only a moment for him to give an objective nod and he points to “yes”; a very certain, and very heartbreaking response.

He might’ve have been able to deduce it. The limited information Cor provided him with certainly suggested a concerning background. But it feels different, worse, to receive direct confirmation from the boy. And he still has no idea what kind of life he led before coming to Lucis.

“Were you… ah… were you hurt frequently before…?”

He nods distantly, eyes closed, face neutral, and he doesn’t point to anything, but he doesn’t need to. He does scratch at his neck a little though.

Ignis stops and needs to collect himself. He feels too many questions bubbling within him. Who hurt you? Why? How? How long? What happened to you? Where did Cor find you? Why did this happen? He diffuses each of them before they can escape. No, it wouldn’t do any good to drag it all up now, lest he cause him more suffering in reliving any of his experiences. He needs to focus.

That said, Ignis notes how the boy seems strangely at ease nodding to these questions. He was visibly upset when they were discussing Cor, but as the line of questioning strays further from him, the more the boy’s expression seems to level out.

“Ah… is that what you would have considered to be… normal for you?” 

Another nod, and Ignis feels something like a sickness starting to swell in him. That was it then. He was regularly, disproportionately punished before coming to Lucis. For what, he still doesn’t know, but he can only deduce it being for negligible offenses. It would certainly coincide with his ever-present flinching and subdued expressiveness. 

He can’t imagine it. Doesn’t want to consider what he must have been through. Can’t imagine what specifics Cor must be keeping from him.

Ignis takes a starting breath. “It may be difficult to process, but things here are not the same as how they were where you were before. Here, you will not be reprimanded for things that are outside of your control. Or even for many things that are _within_ your control. We don’t take to kindly to reprimands for misunderstandings and mistakes. If something falls outside of your control, any consequences of it would not be your fault. Understand?”

His face had gone from neutral to disconcerted over the course of Ignis’s words and, when they finish, he looks tense. He looks to the side, pauses there, kneads his hands together, looks to the sheet of paper, and moves to point to it, all the way next to “no”.

Ignis’s eyes widen. “You… do not understand?” 

He nods quickly, shifts uncomfortably, and then ducks his head into his hands where he grabs at his temples. He stays like that for a moment and then starts shaking his head from side to side, tightening his grip in his hair, squeezing his eyes shut.

And Ignis sees his tears again.

He feels his breath catch and heart drop within him. “Oh—no, no my apologies. It’s okay not to understand. Pardon my tone. Was I being abstract? Ah, Noct’s always telling me that I embellish my words far too much. Was it my wording? I could—”

But he shakes his head insistently at that.

“Oh… not a conflict with my words?” Ignis muses, then pauses; considers. “Then is it perhaps… you… don’t understand… you don’t understand why you would not be disciplined for… mistakes?”

He blinks and thick tears free themselves from his eyes to streak down his face, but he looks equal parts distressed and relieved as he nods.

“I… I see…” Ignis breathes, and suddenly finds himself in the exact predicament the other endures. He understands the meaning of what he’d communicated, complete with confirmation, but now he simply cannot _understand_. Is it not a simple thing to understand? That mistakes should be rectified with care? And something like being disciplined for unmanageable bodily reactions is unthinkable?

But no, he realizes. Of course it is not so simple. Not to someone who has spent an unknown amount of time being inundated with the notion that he must suffer for what would be deemed even the most minor of inconveniences. It is painfully unfair. Ignis is certain he is still lacking in so much information, can’t begin to consider the specifics, but he feels he can at least grasp this; that this child has known no mercy for his actions.

The boy contorts in his despair, shakes his head at nothing, and Ignis feels the swimming distress of uncertainty about how to proceed.

“Listen to me, please,” he starts, trying to force down his desperation. “It—it’s alright.” He moves carefully to place a hand down on the boy’s shoulder, and Ignis can’t tell if he truly flinches through the unceasing trembling, but he does soon feel the slight pressure of the weight leaning into the contact. “It’s… it’s alright not to understand. There are so many concepts and notions in life that we may find confusing, and many that take a long time to develop an understanding of. Sometimes, we’re not able to ever truly understand something at all. But in such cases, we need to be able to grasp onto the principle of their truths. I know it is difficult to fathom that—” he pauses, inhales, strengthens his grip on the shaking shoulder. “—that you aren’t being disciplined at any given turn, and that so much here is different from where you were prior, and—it’s alright that you are not able to grasp that.”

He looks a short distance away, and leans to pick up the plush chocobo with his free hand, quietly aware of how the boy stills at those movements and watches him retrieve the forsaken plush. “I suppose I understand a portion of the process when it comes to creating something like this plush chocobo; the need for fabric and stuffing and sewing patterns, but I would not be able to produce one myself, nor would I be able to tell you about the intricacies involved in the process. Making a plush chocobo is something I don’t understand, but I accept that it was created from its materials, and I appreciate that such a thing can exist.” 

He moves the toy into the boy’s lap, where he stares at it with big dripping eyes. “I’m assuming you also have very little information on how this chocobo came to be, but is it safe to assume that, despite your lack of understanding of it, you are still able to appreciate its existence?”

He stares at it, considering Ignis’s words, considering the bird, and then, slowly, he presses his hands on either side of it to hold it steady. His fingers flex into the feathery fluff of its material and then sweep gently up and down its sides in tactile fascination as the fur flattens back and forth under the path of his hands. And then, they slide all the way around the plush, he leans forward over it, and crumples up tightly around the bird.

He holds it there, stiff and strenuous for a moment, but then he wipes his eyes, rubs his sleeve on the sides of his face, and presses his cheek into the plush feathers.

A small hope takes root in Ignis, and it spreads an equivalent smile on his face. “Is it good?”

His eyes are closed, no doubt redirecting all his senses to appreciating the chocobo, but he does manage a nod, and nuzzles into the plush a moment longer.

Ignis rubs his shoulder and, even though the boy is too captivated by the plush to notice, Ignis lets his smile grow. “That’s good. So, there’s no need to come to terms with it all at once. It may be a foreign and confusing concept, but it can be good. In the meantime, you can permit yourself not to dwell on the lack of discipline, and, perhaps, appreciate the lack of pain you are granted as a result. Do you… do you think you can accept that?”

He pauses in his movements and considers. His eyes return to the chart and stay fixed to it for a moment, until he allows himself to peel one arm from the chocobo and extend it to indicate his response.

6. 

Ignis smiles weakly. “Ah. I suppose that will have to do for now, won’t it? Thank you for considering though. I appreciate your patience. It will be a starting point. When Cor returns, we can discuss this a little more and ensure that we all reach a mutual understanding on the matter. You won’t have anything to fear, I assure you. It will be fine.”

He nods and rests his head down on the plush with closed eyes. Half of his face seems to disappear into the fluff of it.

“Ah, my apologies, that must have been terribly exhausting. Would you prefer that I leave you to allow you rest?” 

His eyes snap open at that and he straightens, shaking his head. 

“Oh!” The look startles him with its insistence. “Then, I will remain until Cor returns.” 

He nods to that as he sinks back down, and his cheek presses to the plush again. 

“Hmm…” Ignis pauses to consider his options. He still has the puzzle, and he could offer that they do that, but he feels an anxious buzzing from their conversation that lingers and won’t allow him to rest. He knows he wouldn’t be able to focus on matching puzzle pieces. They both seem too drained anyway to commit to something of that scale now. His eyes fall on the sheet of paper with his chart though, and he contemplates it for a moment. 

“Ah, may I ask how you feel about the chart? Did it help with your responses?”

He sits up at that, looks to the paper, and back at Ignis with a strong nod.

He grins. “Ah. Do… do you like it then? Using it as a system?”

He nods again, and a small smile comes with it.

He beams. “Ah, wonderful, thank you. If it is able to help in any degree then it was very much worth the effort.” He pauses to think. “Ah, I’d also like to know then, do you dislike it when I ask you questions? I certainly don’t desire to be a contributor to your stresses.”

He thinks, and points to “2”, and Ignis isn’t expecting that. Not after how much Cor has insisted on discouraging questioning, and how previous questioning for the boy has supposedly been going without success.

“Is that so?” Ignis breathes, mostly to himself, but the boy nods in response anyway. “Questions are difficult. I do not wish to pry into your experiences or ask you anything that would make you uncomfortable… but I must admit, I do have questions in regards to you that I wish I had the answers to, if they could aid me in getting to understand you.”

Big eyes study him from against the chocobo plush and then he shifts, eyeing the chart again before sliding it emphatically between them again, where his finger presses pointedly to “yes”

A small snort escapes Ignis. “Yes? Yes… you understand the dilemma? Or yes—“ he thinks, considers, “You would be fine with me asking you some questions?”

He doesn’t look necessarily excited about the matter, but he looks very sure of his response which is another sturdy nod and a neutral gaze. 

“Then… ah, may I? Ask you something? Right now?”

He nods.

“O-okay. Thank you,” Ignis nods in turn with thinly veiled excitement. “I’m grateful for it, truly. That said, ah, please, do decline to answer if you don’t wish to discuss the matter. I do not wish to upset you, even by unintentional means. So…” He pauses, gathers his breath, and releases the pent-up question, “When first learning of you, Cor mentioned to me that you, ah… that you don’t have a name. Is… is that correct?”

Free of any shock or hesitation, he nods and points to yes.

The lack of emotional reaction surprises him, especially after the fuss Cor had initially made over the matter. “I see... that’s surprising. Even under inhumane conditions, I’d imagine such an arrangement would be difficult…” He thinks. “Did you have anything at all by which you were called? Maybe something you wouldn’t consider a formal name, but something, perhaps, that you were identified with to contact? Something that was used to address you, and you alone?”

He pauses and looks thoughtful for a moment, but then, simply, he nods.

Ignis has to stop himself from gasping and tries to lessen the obscene widening of his eyes. Perhaps the boy lacks an understanding of what constitutes as a name and he’s had something all along by which to call himself? His answer seemed to indicate as much.

He clears his throat and aims to confirm, “So then, there was something unique to you that you were called? Is it something you would be able to divulge to me?”

His eyes turn upward in thought as he absorbs those words, and, ultimately, he nods.

The anxiety in Ignis that had since been sitting at a low buzz spikes into untenable energy. Did Cor know about this? No, something like this would have been divulged instantly at the start of any of their meetings as soon as Cor would have discovered it. It’s almost certain then that he doesn’t know yet.

And, now, Ignis is about to find out.

He thinks, considers his options 

He blurts, “Do you know how to write it? Ah—I know you mentioned you are not able to write, and perhaps not formal sentences, but something a little more intrinsic like this, if it were used frequently, is it perhaps an isolated thing that you are able to write?”

He flinched at the intensity and immediacy with which Ignis imparted his question, to which Ignis immediately chastised himself internally, and took care in quietening his tone with each subsequent word. He needs to calm down. But at least the boy’s expression seemed to smooth out quickly into indifference. His fingers loosen to a gentle grip in the yellow downy softness of his plush, and he smooths a hand over it as he shakes his head. 

Ignis slumps a little, “Ah, I see.” It’s understandable, he supposes, all things considered. But still. _But still._

He sees the boy’s eyes flicker to and away from him, quiet in his contemplation. But then a tension shoots through him, more alert than anxious, and he looks around thoughtfully.

He sets the chocobo plush gently aside and turns fully toward Ignis. He looks down, leans forward a little and presses his palms to the floorboards. Then his fingers lift, curl, and touch the floor again. He repeats this in a pace that becomes repetitive and disjointed and it’s a nonsensical drumming of his fingers against the floor.

Ignis watches him do this for a moment. At first it seems like an attempt to expel excess energy twining within him, but he pauses, looks up at Ignis, glances at the chart, back to Ignis, and then looks to his hands again where he taps carefully against the wood.

He repeats this a few times and Ignis keeps watching, contemplating the movement. It’s deliberate, he’s sure of it, but not so sure what he’s trying to say by it. There’s not a specific pattern to his tapping, in rhythm or in sequence, but there is something methodical to it. It’s a very conscious movement of his fingers up and down and side to side to various points on the floor. There’s no perceptible pattern, but his tapping generates a sequence of his own making, like improvising a tune on an invisible piano.

Like typing a sentence on a keyboard.

“Can you… you can type?” Ignis nearly gasps, beyond hopeful that his assessment is correct, and the little smile he receives in response is all the confirmation he needs.

The added nod just about sends him into hysterics. 

“I… I see!” Ignis breathes, struggling again to keep his voice at a neutral level. “That is something we can work with then, yes?”

Ignis says it, and he receives another nod in return, but then the boy looks around, combing the room with his eyes before tilting his head a little sideways and frowning uneasily. He repeats his tapping motions on the ground, watching Ignis, expectantly.

“Ah… we… we need something to type with, don’t we.” 

His hands retract from the ground, and he nods with a big-eyed stare that doesn’t know how to proceed.

“Right… I believe it would take some time and permissions for us to acquire any accommodating equipment…” 

Ignis considers. 

“But… we can certainly reach a compromise.”

-

Ignis keeps his focus narrowed onto a fresh page in the stationary pad where he composes each letter of the alphabet. It’s with a degree of care he hasn’t imparted onto individual letters since his strenuous lessons in penmanship. It comes easy now, but he makes sure to keep each symbol spaced well-apart and written in all-capital letters, allowing each their proper space and optimizing legibility. It has to be perfect. 

When he finishes his “Z”, he sits back.

“If you can type, but cannot write, then we can do it like this,” Ignis turns the sheet toward him. “It may be slower, but, if you can point to each letter in sequence, I can scribe them and I’ll be able to read what you want to communicate.”

His eyes are wide, swimming with the possibility of it, and then he nods rapidly and his finger darts to the paper where it rests under a letter.

N

Ignis feels his chest tighten with an intoxicating cocktail of delight and anticipation. There it is. _There it is_. The first letter of a name. _His_ name. His nameless companion has a _name_. And it starts with “ _N_ ”.

As soon as Ignis eagerly writes down the letter on his empty sheet, the boy blinks and lifts his finger to locate the next letter, but he hesitates. He looks around the sheet, as if searching for something that isn’t there, and Ignis feels his excitement flicker to a dim glow.

The boy’s quiet curiosity to the task gives way to nervousness. Ignis sees his eyes flicker to the pen once, twice, thrice, and then he thinks to push it closer.

“Ah… do you want to try… writing? Or drawing something?” Ignis says as he slides the pen over encouragingly. “You can write anything down on the paper.”

He seems hesitant to take it, but, given the explicit permission, he takes hold of the pen and hesitantly presses it down to an empty section of the page. There, he begins by drawing a very slow, steady horizontal line, and he lifts the pen while the line is still short. Ignis waits for the next addition to bring this mark to completion.

But that’s all there is.

He sets the pen down and looks expectantly at Ignis, but Ignis feels his words stumbling in their attempt to escape his throat.

“Ah,” he starts, trying a noise experimentally before allowing himself the complexity of real words. “That’s… what is that?” 

The boy’s eyes widen, like this was obvious and how could Ignis not understand what he just wrote onto the paper?

He points to the line.

Ignis blinks, and he’s trying to think of what he can ask for clarification, but then the boy starts insistently pointing at the mark. His face is wide-eyed and almost neutral, if slightly puzzled, but his finger jabs at the paper with unrelenting force.

Ignis retrieves the pen and looks back to his sheet where he only has one letter recorded. He looks back to the line, and he thinks. If the boy is from Niflheim then perhaps he possesses a name with foreign naming conventions. Whatever this is, a dash or an unfamiliar phonetic symbol, it’s crucial to recording the name, and the boy seems insistent on its inclusion. So.

When Ignis reproduces the line beside the “N” on his sheet, the boy stops pointing and returns his gaze to the field of letters.

There, Ignis is hoping that they will regain the lost momentum, and he can start piecing together the necessary pieces to generate a name for this boy, but almost immediately they return to a lull. He searches the field carefully and bites his lip as confusion overtakes his expression. Ignis is beginning to consider that the Lucian alphabet might be lacking in the necessary characters to complete his name, and he’s about to say as much, but a sudden look on the boy’s face stops Ignis in his tracks. He looks as if he’s struck by realization and relief, at which he reaches past the sheet in front of him and grabs the preceding chart.

Ignis feels himself floundering as he tries to decipher what the boy might need that for, and he only finds himself sinking further when the boy points down at the chart, under the number “1”.

“Are you…” He’s trying to understand. “Do you want to stop? I didn’t mean to pressure you, I’m sorry, I—”

Before he can verbalize any more of his thoughts, he sees the boy rapidly shaking his head and pointing down at the number again, and again, and again, as insistent as he was with the line he drew. 

Ignis swallows and considers the motion carefully. He doesn’t want to do it, doesn’t think he should, but could it mean anything else?

He records a “1” as the next letter in the name.

The boy smiles faintly and nods, and then his finger is back on the other paper, pointing at “P”, and there’s relief to the familiarity of being able to write another Lucian symbol in this name, but really Ignis isn’t so sure of what he’s writing anymore.

Once it’s down, he doesn’t expect it to be the last Lucian letter in the name.

What Ignis writes down doesn’t look like a name at all. He could accuse the boy of electing to point at random to whatever symbols he pleased, but the motions were too calculated and insistent to support that. And so, this is what the boy had called himself.

N-1P01357-05953234

He’d signaled to stop by folding his hands in front of himself, and when Ignis asked for confirmation, he received a sure nod. So this is it.

Ignis swallows and can barely identify the feelings rousing in him.

“Uh,” he starts, tries to gather himself. “Is… is this what you would like to be called?”

His mouth opens, closes, fishlike, and he looks like he’s thinking, and finally he points down to the numbered chart.

5. 

Ignis frowns. “So… you have no feelings one way or the other on the matter…”

He shrugs a little and his head tilts in an indifferent gesture. 

“I see... but… this _is_ what you were called before? Or, I mean… this is how you were identified?”

He nods certainly and indifferently to that, and those rousing feelings lurch uncomfortably in Ignis.

“And this is… the only designation by which you were referred? No common name?”

The boy’s neutrality wavers and suddenly he’s looking guilty, ducking his head and dropping his eyes.

“Oh, no, I, ah, I’m not upset with you, thank you for telling me, really. I’d been wanting to know. So, I appreciate you sharing that information. It’s just, well, in Lucis, we don’t label each other with numbers, not unless a person is integrated in some sort of system.”

Ignis pauses and reaches into his pocket, wherein lies his ID card.

He lays it on the ground between them. “Ah, for instance, I am registered with the Citadel, for the work I do for his Highness, and having this card allows other officials within the Citadel to identify who I am if the need arises.” He points to the text on the card, “This series of numbers is my ID number. It’s a number that is unique to representing me and is how anyone would be able to locate me in the system. Up here though, is my name. This is how people refer to me when speaking to me, and how I refer to myself. A name is personal. The numbers are more of a tool, something supplementary to a name.”

As Ignis’s words come to an end, he sees the boy leaning forward with a surprising degree of interest and his hand follows suit. His fingers touch to the plastic surface and brush over the scanlines of the card’s barcode, which grant limited access to chambers within the Citadel. It seems at first a motion of curiosity, but then Ignis sees the way his eyes widen and how he situates himself to examine the card closer.

He looks at Ignis.

“Ah… what is it?”

He taps the surface of the card and holds his wrist. He rolls his sleeve up a little and examines where the bandage is wrapped. He tilts his hand from side to side, flexing the range of motion on the bandaged joint, and then he stares at it again. He looks at the ID. And looks at his hand.

Ignis can’t correlate the two at all; wonders if he’s experiencing discomfort in his hand, but what does that have to do with the card?

He doesn’t look like he’s in pain, but he’s practically buzzing with unspoken thought. He stares at the card but keeps touching his hand, and finally his eyes flicker back to Ignis. He pushes it toward him, taps at it insistently, but then sits stiffly, watching him, expectant.

Ignis watches back, adrift.

There’s a knocking at the door and they both jolt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: the scale is an image now! So now it is hopefully significantly more legible!
> 
> So I started this fic because I wanted to give myself something to do while on a job hunt. In a surprising twist though, I got a job almost immediately. It's a really good job actually, so that's nice. Problem is now I don't have the same amount of freetime to dedicate to writing. Also I am dealing with a morbid depression oops. But I still have some story I'd like to tell here so hopefully I can keep doing that, if only significantly slower..
> 
> This chapter took so long to write!!! And it would have been even longer too! But I astral-projected out of my body and shook myself, screaming, "You are dragging this chapter out to an unwieldy degree!!", so i found a natural concluding point and we'll pick it up from there next time! It works out better this way actually, narratively, I promise. Anyway, I hope you enjoy what's there.
> 
> Thanks for the comments and support, really motivated me to get over that writing block! /;-;/


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This probably needs ANOTHER pass, and I was still finding some typos RIGHT before posting, but I'm feeling like It's Time To Post, so here it is!..
> 
> Also, it's been so long since I last posted that I still haven't had the chance to point everyone to two lovely songs that my dear friend Wordsmythologic wrote about this fic, this one about the fic's essence as a whole https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0NsCtaGf8ek and this one about Ignis and Prompto doing puzzles! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VXYAQNWejIM (and it's certainly recommended listening for that chapter!) She has such a way with music!! These songs makes me emotional every time hahaha. Hope you all enjoy them too!
> 
> And I hope y'all enjoy the current chapter! Thanks for all your support!

“Hello? It’s Cor.”

He feels his heart thrumming still, set off by the sudden noise, and normally the sound of Cor’s voice would be enough to settle his heartrate down to a baseline level, but he can’t help the panic that bubbles up instead. He needs to calm down. He knows he should, but he can’t dispel the tension. Especially not when Ignis doesn’t look calm either. 

There’s a chance he is still missing relevant data, especially considering how he hasn’t been exposed to Ignis for an extensive amount of time, but the small human had only ever exhibited a calm and calculating demeanor. Ignis understands things and solves problems. That seems to be his role in this place.

But for the first time, Ignis looks deeply uncertain, moving quickly and communicating nothing. The card he produced is hastily returned to his pocket, and the sheet with the transcribed designation is folded and stored along with it. The motions are swift, but tense, as if he were solving one of the puzzles from the labs. 

It’s entirely out of place, and even more confusing with no discernable instructions and Cor present just outside the door. If Cor wants entry, he could open the door himself. So then why is he waiting outside the door? Why is Ignis moving so quickly? Ignis said himself that he didn’t need to be afraid of Cor. He doesn’t _want_ to be afraid of Cor. But why is Ignis suddenly so afraid? 

When Ignis fully rises, he pushes his hands down his clothes, pressing the folds and lines in the fabric until it all lays flat, and then sweeps a hand back through his hair, aligning the strands into a noticeably more organized arrangement. Then, he takes a deep breath in, closes his eyes, and when he releases the breath and opens them again he doesn’t look so nervous anymore. His movements toward the door are slightly more rigid than before, but he makes no correction to it. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t request and input, and doesn’t give any commands.

Ignis opens the door.

“Hello, sir.” He says. His voice sounds a little strange and he coughs.

“Hello, Ignis,” Cor says, sounding similarly strange and looking as tired as he did in the morning. Cor’s eyes meet his and then quickly look away. “I, uh, managed to get an appointment in for the kid.”

“I see.” Ignis nods and nothing happens for a moment. It makes him feels stiff, and the affect seems the same on the others.

“Right. And, uh, how’s he doing?”

Ignis breathes in. “I can’t say for certain, but I believe I’ve been able to get a better understanding of his perspective in regards to last night’s events.”

“Yeah?”

“I spoke with him a bit. I don’t believe I yet have a full grasp on what his thoughts are, but we managed to make some strides in communication.” Ignis pauses and shuffles suddenly. It’s hard to see with Ignis’s back turned to him, but he hears the rustling of paper and watches Ignis turn his attention back to Cor. “This was something I developed to offer him a better means to communicate his feelings on a given matter.”

Cor takes the material—the sheet—and examines it. And then his face changes.

“Oh.” Cor says.

“Oh?” Ignis also says.

Cor’s eyes lift. “Ah, Doctor Aedis had something similar to this. It was an emotional scale of sorts. With, y’know, a bunch of faces on it to help us better understand how he was feeling about things. It wasn’t effective though. I don’t think he… got it exactly? I don’t know. It made him feel bad though, so we stopped.” He looks at the sheet again, then back to Ignis. “This works?” 

Ignis nods. “It is imperfect, but it allowed for a more dynamic conversation and helped me to understand his apprehension. Um, I believe it would be beneficial for the both of you if you spoke candidly and specifically about your feelings in regard to the event.”

Cor’s face looks upset at that, and, even though there’s a room’s worth of distance between them, and Cor’s not even through the entryway, it makes his stomach twist in a painful motion.

Cor speaks, “I explained it yesterday. And I told him this morning. It wasn’t his fault. I told him it’s okay. Are you suggesting I wouldn’t?”

Ignis doesn’t move. “With all due respect, sir, you may need to communicate it in a way that he can internalize. You’ve told me yourself, that his upbringing is unlike any other in Lucis.” 

Cor’s shoulder lower and the look on his face changes again. “Does he still think I’m upset with him?”

Ignis fidgets a little, shifts his weight from his left foot to his right foot, and that’s all he can see. There’s no audible response to Cor’s question.

“… Well, shit,” Cor mutters, and he’s not looking at Ignis or at him. 

For a moment, there’s silence, and still no answer to Cor’s question, and it makes the horrible feeling in his stomach swell into his chest, and he wants to hunch forward to make it stop. If he had the chocobo plush in his arms, he could squeeze it and it would make things less bad. It’s settled within reach on the floor, and—he could—he could lean to the side and secure it with his hands, but he’s stuck. He shouldn’t move. Shouldn’t do anything he isn’t supposed to do. He doesn’t want to make Cor angry. And he doesn’t want Cor to be mad at Ignis either. It’s still quiet. Is Cor going to be mad at Ignis? Why hasn’t Ignis relayed their conversation to Cor? Surely that would provide the necessary clarity?

He wants to do it himself, be useful, explain everything, but it’s stuck in his throat and he can’t, he can’t.

“I’m scaring him.”

It breaks the overbearing silence, and that affords him some kind of relief, but the sound just stirs a different pain in him. It was a sound too low and weathered to be coming from Cor.

It goes quiet again, and it hurts still, but this time Ignis speaks first. “But he’s not upset with you. I think he’s merely having trouble understanding what happened, and how things work here, particularly in regards to mistakes and discipline.”

Ignis steps backwards and aside from the doorway, and it gives him an unobstructed view of Cor’s stiff and irregular posture. Ignis’s hands fold together. “Please speak with him, and try not to leave room for ambiguity… sir.”

Cor sighs heavily and then finally, finally, sets foot in the room, advancing toward him at a strangely slow pace. The closer he gets, the more the creases in his face seem to soften out. 

But the impact of his boots on the floor feels loud.

Only a few steps away, Cor stops and regards him, still looking stiff and strange. It makes him conscious of how stiff his own posture is, but that’s how he intends to keep it. That’s how MT units look. Cor’s not supposed to look like that. 

“… Hey, kiddo,” Cor says at last, and it’s soft like his expression. It’s a look that Cor has given him regularly since arriving here, and it has always been accompanied by quiet words and slow proceedings. It had always managed to make something in him ease into an unfamiliar state of being comfortable. But now.

His heart hasn’t stopped beating in panic. There’s a lack of malice in Cor’s features, but it doesn’t make sense. It didn’t make much sense before either, but it makes even less sense now. He doesn’t understand why Cor is looking at him with a face like this.

He blinks up at Cor and swallows, keeping his lips pressed firmly together. Nothing escapes.

“Y-yeah,” Cor says, and looks away, scratching his head.

The stretch of silence that follows isn’t nearly as long as the previous ones, and it is broken by the sound of Ignis clearing his throat. Cor turns to look at Ignis and Ignis is looking back. Ignis doesn’t look happy, but he doesn’t look scared either. So—so maybe—maybe Cor isn’t mad. Ignis wouldn’t look so calm if he were, right? So maybe things will be okay. For Ignis, at the very least.

Neither Cor nor Ignis say anything, and then Cor turns back to him, breathes in, and moves another step forward.

He kneels in front of him. Even reduced from his full height, he still has to look up to make eye-contact with Cor, but it’s no longer at so sharp of an angle. He’s closer.

“Hey,” he says again, and the sound is even softer, but the strangeness lingers in it. “I’m sorry. This whole day’s been kinda long, huh.”

He thinks. The day has been the same length as any other, but he thinks about how he had focused on the tightness in his chest all through the night, and how much he’d been thinking about the rice, and ruining the floor, and coughing, and somehow, impossibly, time seemed to stretch with it. So maybe that’s what Cor means. Did Cor feel that too?

Cor likes it when he gives physical responses to questions, despite everything engrained in him telling him he shouldn’t, and it’s hard, but—he nods.

“Yeah,” Cor says, nodding a little as well. He doesn’t reprimand him for the motion and instead breathes a long breath in and forcefully pushes it out. “Listen, I know I’ve told you that it’s all okay, and you’re not in trouble—and you _won’t_ be in trouble for this, not now, not later—but I’m… I’m not sure what to do. I know there’s something you’ve been stuck on. I… I know you have difficulty speaking. And that’s okay. But. I want to know what you are having trouble with. I—I _really_ need to know what you’re thinking about here. I want to do what I can to help.”

Cor breathes unevenly and unfolds the piece of paper Ignis gave him and he stares at it for a moment before turning it outward. “Ignis told me you were able to use this to help communicate. Is that right?”

It’s the sheet with the numbered scale. Carefully, he nods.

Cor nods too. “I’d like to try it too then. To understand.” He lays the sheet flat on the floor between them and fixes a direct gaze onto him. “Let me know, and we can work with whatever the answer is,” he takes in a breath. “… Are you upset with me?”

He feels his eyes widen around the edges at the notion. Mad at Cor? How could he be? It didn’t seem even remotely possible. It at least makes selecting a number simple.

He points to “0”, and makes himself shake his head for emphasis. Cor shouldn’t even consider it to be a possibility.

He sees Cor’s eyes widen a little. “Oh,” he says, and regards the sheet for a moment before speaking again. “That’s… huh…”

Cor goes silent again, and for a brief moment he’s starting to worry that shaking his head was the wrong thing to do, but then Cor speaks.

“Okay.” He finally says. “That’s good. But I… I’m still missing something. You’ve been sitting with this… _look_ on your face, like… like you’re… I dunno, detached or something. Are you worried you’re going to be sick again?”

He wasn’t aware about his face looking like anything. But he thinks. It’s true, there is a part of him that is worried about getting sick again. It was a mistake that he doesn’t wat to repeat. It isn’t the thing twisting his stomach the most, but… 

He indicates “6” on the scale.

Cor’s expression twitches, and he sees Ignis leaning towards them a little from where he’s stood. Before he can contemplate Ignis any further though, Cor speaks again.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s as confusing as every other time Cor has said it to him. “We’re going to be more careful moving forward. We’ll figure out what you can and cannot eat, and you won’t have to eat anything that makes you sick again, okay? We can stick with soup a little longer. We’re going to do what we can to make sure you’ll be healthy.”

He doesn’t know what kind of response to give to that. The words themselves don’t hurt and he can’t fully grasp it. Does Cor understand that a punishment is required? He has to.

Cor’s frown is suddenly deeper. “But you… pointed to six on here. So, I take that to mean it’s not the only thing making you worry.”

He feels stiff and his throat is aching. He wants to make everything clear, but simultaneously he almost wishes Cor would stop asking it of him. He can’t bring himself to move.

“Okay,” Cor breathes out, not looking at him as he shifts uncomfortably. “ _What else_ …” he says too quietly, then louder, “are you feeling bad for getting sick?”

He feels his teeth grit down and his eyes burn a little around the edges. It hurts to think about it. Trying not to shake, he points to the end of the scale where “yes” is written and retracts his hand as soon he’s sure Cor’s registered his response.

“Oh, kid…” Cor rubs his face and then looks him in the eyes. “I meant it when I said it. It wasn’t your fault. If anything, it was my fault. I had you eat the rice, right? It’s just… it was on the list the doc gave me. I wanted to help. I _want_ to help you, alright? If you get sick, it’s not going to make me angry, alright? You don’t have to feel bad about being sick. It’s just something that happens.”

 _You don’t have to feel bad about being sick._ Why? Why, why? Shouldn’t he? It’s in his design to be functional and useful. If he’s not doing that, if he’s causing inconvenience and purging sustenance, then what _isn’t_ there to feel bad about?

“Do you get what I’m saying?” Cor says, and he realizes he’s waiting for a response. His heart starts beating painfully fast. “Do you understand?”

 _Do you understand?_ Ignis had asked him this too. And, even in a different context, he still doesn’t understand. He doesn’t want to fail Cor, doesn’t want to show how much information his system is lacking, but Cor’s eyes are watching expectantly, and Ignis is still calm in his peripheral.

It aches to do it, but he brings himself to move his hand, and he points to where “No” is written on the sheet.

It sounds like Cor stops breathing for a moment. “…No? _…No?_ ” He looks away and looks back. “… Kid, I… I don’t…” Cor stops and looks over at Ignis, and Ignis reciprocates the stare, but neither of them speak, and Cor turns back to him with strangely wide eyes. “I…” he spends another moment not saying anything before he lowers his head into his hands to rub his eyes. The angle distorts his voice. “You look just like a kid. You look right around Noctis’s age. It’s too easy to forget… that everything you’ve lived through is even _more_ different than I can imagine.”

He keeps himself still, but he feels like his body is moments away from shaking apart. Cor isn’t moving much either. They all breathe shakily.

Cor looks up at him again.

“Kid, do I scare you?”

He feels his lips press tighter together and he can hear, too clearly, his breath quivering through his nose. He blinks at the sheet.

Does Cor scare him? No… Cor has granted him more kindness in his existence than he could ever hope to receive, much less deserve as an MT unit.

Too much kindness.

How could it possibly last.

When is it going to go back to the way it was.

He’s scared.

He shouldn’t be. It’s normal. It’s typical. He is supposed to be corrected and set to try again and avoid his mistakes. But. He’s never gone so long without being corrected. It’s taking so long, and he’s sure it’s going to hurt even more when it gets to him.

He blinks until his vision is less blurry. Is he scared of Cor… he isn’t sure… but he’s scared of what Cor needs to do.

He measures his feelings, as best he can, and he finally points to “8” on the sheet.

The shaking in Cor’s breath becomes more noticeable, and he feels even less control over his own, trying desperately to keep his lips sealed and everything inside.

“I—” Cor starts, but then immediately breathes in and swallows. Then silent. “I… just—I need to—”

Cor stands suddenly and he can’t see his face anymore. He hears stuttering breath and Cor’s movements look wrong, like he’s malfunctioning. But Cor is a human. Humans don’t malfunction.

Cor never malfunctions.

He’s starting to lose focus. His vision starts to blur uncontrollably and it makes the entirety of Cor’s form seem hazy and distorted. It’s even harder to discern anything about him.

He struggles to keep the sound of his breathing in check.

He tries to listen.

Cor’s breathing is distant, uneven in rhythm, and it makes it harder to keep his own breathing steady. But it’s the only thing he can focus on until he hears light footsteps.

“Cor,” he hears; Ignis’s voice.

Cor inhales. “Don’t you dare judge me.”

“I wouldn’t think of it, sir.” Ignis says. And then a pause. “… He pointed to ‘8’”

“Yeah…”

“Well, you realize that is not the maximum on the scale.”

“…”

“Cor, I don’t mean to overstep my bounds in the duty you have entrusted me with, but I believe it would be helpful to realize that, perhaps, he isn’t scared of _you_. At least, not in the sense that he doesn’t want to be around you.”

“…”

“Consider what he’s used to, and what he might expect of someone like you.”

A loud breath suddenly. “I know, but I… _gods_ , Ignis, I can’t, I… I’m not them. _I’m not._ He shouldn’t have to…”

Cor stops speaking, but Ignis doesn’t say anything in the following silence. Instead, it’s Cor who speaks again. 

“… Yeah… I… I know, I… yeah, okay, yeah.” There’s a lengthy pause and then he hears Cor taking a deep breath. “Yeah, okay.”

He blinks and he feels some of his tears drip loose. It clears his vision enough to see Cor turning back toward him with an intense focus, a sight that’s enough to reignite the ache in his eyes of more tear production and the ceaseless pounding in his chest.

The stance. The expression. It looks like this is it. It’s a face he’s seen so often before when he screamed and the guards wanted him to stop.

They would move toward him like this, forward, unflinching, and then his face would hurt, or his whole body, and it would hurt until his noises stopped. All the times he’d thrown up after a procedure, and all the times he’d been kicked in his stomach and sides. It’d hurt, but it’d make the rules clear: don’t scream. Don’t throw up.

And it looked like Cor finally realized he forgot to reinforce it.

He closes his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable impact, and he waits, and he waits, and the stretch leading up to it becomes longer and longer and—

He feels his shoulders shaking, he’s still waiting for it to please, _please_ just be over with already.

But he still doesn’t feel the impact.

“Kid,” he hears, close. “Please look at me.”

Carefully, he opens his eyes, not realizing how tightly shut they were, and he sees Cor kneeling in front of him again, closer than before, voice even quieter. His features are still tense. 

When their eyes meet, Cor speaks again. “Listen… this is… this is probably going to be difficult to understand, but I want to make it as clear as I can. Kid, I… I would never… _ever_ hurt you. I don’t care if you got sick. It doesn’t matter to me if the floor got a little dirty. I care much more about making sure that you don’t feel sick anymore. I want you to feel safe. I want you to be comfortable and not have to worry about being hurt.”

That…

That’s not what he was expecting at all. Not even close. Cor’s just being as confusing as ever. But he’s proven to be so knowledgeable. Cor knows _so much._ Which one of them is wrong, and then _why is it so hard for the other to grasp?_

“I’m not them.” Cor says, and it’s firm. “I’m not like them. What they did to you, it’s wrong. They should have never done any of those things they did to you. And I’m sure that you think—” he inhales deeply. “—that you think what they did was… is normal for you. You’re—you’re expecting it still, right?”

The lilt of his voice indicates he wants an answer, but he doesn’t know if he can. He feels so stiff and tired and he doesn’t want to give any responses that would make Cor upset. Negative is bad. Agreeing with the statement is bad. But… he can’t _not_ answer. Cor’s waiting.

He makes himself nod, and keeps the motion small and short. 

Cor inhales… and exhales slowly. “Right… but it’s not right. You can’t be punished for things that aren’t your fault. It isn’t okay. It’s _wrong._ And you can’t _torture_ people for little things that are beyond their control.”

He keeps staring at Cor, trying to ignore the blurriness lingering in his vision.

“I…” Cor starts, then stops. He looks to the side, where Ignis isn’t, and doesn’t look focused on anything.

He turns back. “I’m not going to punish you the way they did. I refuse to. It was never right. It’s… how can I explain… disproportional. Do you understand that? Like, not being able to finish a bowl of soup isn’t as bad as hitting someone, does that make sense?”

Isn’t it though?

He thinks. He doesn’t understand why Cor doesn’t think his errors require correction. But then… how could he explain _why_ it’s necessary?

It just _is._

“Okay,” Cor says, and he realizes he didn’t give a response, but Cor doesn’t address it. “Think about it like this. Where you were… that place had its own set of rules. They have their way of doing things. _Here_ … we have our own way of doing things. We have a _different_ set of rules. And we reinforce them _differently._ Even if you don’t understand _why_ our rules are the way they are, like how I don’t understand the rules that you’re familiar with, can you understand the concept? That people here, and myself, think differently in regards to discipline?”

He thinks. Ignis said something similar, about trying to accept things he doesn’t fully understand. The concept was difficult to internalize, and Cor’s words have a similar unwieldly magnitude to them, but they also seem… more grounded, somehow. Grounded in context. It didn’t occur to him to consider that areas outside the facility might possess a different ruleset than the one he’d been given.

It seems… _strange_ for things to be any other way than how they had always been, but this new place seems to prove time and time again that things here are indeed startlingly different. It’s everywhere he looks, and he isn’t prepared for it. They’ve never prepared him to confront this.

But it’s not… bad.

He doesn’t want to think that Cor would lie about the rules here. He doesn’t understand these rules, but everything else here seems to abide by them. He doesn’t understand the rules… but he understands that they might be different.

He points to “8” on the sheet.

“Okay.” Cor breathes out and nods. “That’s a start…”

He feels so tired, but it’s a little less difficult to breathe now. Cor’s eyes are strangely red-rimmed, and he looks more tired than usual, but much of the tension doesn’t seem to be there anymore, and that’s better.

“Do you think then…” Cor says, fidgeting. “Are you okay with being around me then?”

He blinks. Okay? With being around Cor?

He thinks; thinks about Cor carrying him out of the box, about Cor not hurting him when he couldn’t relay information, about Cor introducing him to Broth and Apple Sauce, about Cor handing him the soft chocobo and telling him that he could keep it, and the way Cor moved just a little bit in front of him whenever someone he’d never met would approach them.

There was nowhere he felt safer.

He nods frantically, and Cor’s eyes soften with an accompanying smile.

A smile. Cor’s smiling.

It’s suddenly easier to breathe.

“Uh… well then, can I, uh, could I…” Cor’s voice wavers in a different way and he makes a wide gesture with his arms. He looks at him for a moment, inhales, and speaks. “Is alright if I hug you?”

He feels his head tilt a little in confusion. If it’s what Cor wants, then of course the answer is yes. But the unfamiliarity with the word catches him off-guard. Contextual data doesn’t seem to be much help either. 

Another moment passes where Cor starts to frown and fidgets his arms a little. “I mean, I get not wanting to, it’s a lot, it’s okay if—” his eyes widen, “Wait, oh gods, do you know what hugs are.”

He swallows, relieved for the opportunity to confirm his confusion, but suddenly weary to admit it. But he _knows_ Cor likes it when he answers. So, he forces himself to shake his head.

“… _Fuck_ , I’m gonna weep.” Cor mutters and runs his hand through his hair as he draws in a deep breath. “Hugs. Are—” he pauses to look at Ignis, and Ignis is still watching, looking strangely stiff. Cor turns back forward. “A hug is when you put your arms around someone and you hold them, because you want them to feel better. Yesterday? When I had my arms around you? That was a hug.”

Oh.

_Oh._

_Hug._

He didn’t expect there to be a name for that. Just… holding someone. But there's that distinction, the intent to make the recipient of the _hug_ feel better. It’s strangely specific, but it makes all the difference, somehow.

The thought makes him warm.

“But you don’t have to accept hugs, even from me. You should only get a hug when you want one. Otherwise, it’s not really a hug. If you don’t want to, we don’t have to hug right now either. I just wanted to let you have that option. Would that be… o… kay…?

There’s tears spilling down his cheeks before Cor’s even finished, and, when his sentence drifts to a stop, he nods frantically. Because yes. Yes, _of course._

“O-okay, okay,” Cor’s saying, and leans forward with his arms spread open. He scrambles a little and moves the rest of the distance over to Cor and feels the arms close around him, sturdy and warm.

It’s so warm. 

“It’s all going to be okay,” Cor says. It’s quiet, but he hears it.

-

They stay like that for some time. It makes him keenly aware of how exhausted he is, but it isn’t quite a bad feeling. It’s more relieving than anything. 

Cor was smiling. And now he’s holding him. It’s fine. It’s good.

Cor lets out a steady breath and he can feel the arms unwrapping from him, but the hands stop at his shoulders for a moment to grip them.

“Okay,” Cor says, still quiet, and still smiling. “Okay, that’s good. We’ve got a bit of a schedule to keep though, so we’ve gotta get going. Uh, here, hold this.”

Cor hands him the plush chocobo, and he takes it. He wraps his arms around it, and it’s not as good as being hugged by Cor, but this is nice too. He feels less hollow now.

He hugs the plush.

“Ignis, we gotta get going,” Cor says, closer to Ignis now. “Thanks for being with him, and, uh, being here. I know that was a lot.”

“It is.”

“Yeah,” Cor pauses to scratch at the back of his neck. “I probably owe you some more explanation, but now’s not a good time. We’ve really gotta get going.”

“I understand,” Ignis nods. “But, before you go, I do have one more piece of information that might be of some use to you.”

“… Like what?”

“Well,” Ignis breathes in and folds his hands together. “I haven’t been able to confirm for myself, but he seems adamant about the notion that he can, um, type.”

“… What?” Cor says, louder.

Ignis shrugs, and Cor turns to look at him with wide eyes.

“Kid, can you come over here,” Cor says, gesturing a little and then looking very distracted, putting a hand in his pocket. 

With clear instruction, he stands and moves over to where Cor and Ignis are, and waits for the next order.

“It’s not ideal,” Cor mumbles, fidgeting with an object in his hand. “It’s small, but… okay.” He extends the object to him. “Is this familiar? If it is, I’d like to see if you can type something. It can be anything.”

He takes hold of the object—Cor’s phone, he realizes—and he stares at its screen. It’s small like Cor said, but there’s a degree of familiarity to it. A grouping of letters and numbers in small squares and a blinking cursor in a blank field. In the facility, keyboards tended to be physical, and much larger, but he had dealt with digital interfaces before in the labs. It’s just _so small._ And it seems to be missing some important keys and symbols. But the majority of the most crucial symbols seem to be there. He can work with this.

Carefully, he types.

_I know how to type._

It’s a slower process than what he’s used to. The screen is so small, he can’t fit all his fingers on the interface, and trying to execute the task while securing the chocobo plush under his arm is distinctly awkward. But he typed something, anything, and so he turns the screen over for Cor to see, and Ignis leans in as well. 

They stare.

“Oh gods,” Cor says, and he sounds hoarse.

Ignis doesn’t speak, but he does manage a nod. 

“This is, _oh gods_ , he can do that,” Cor’s hand drags across his face, tugging at his features. It worries him for a moment, but when Cor moves his hand away from his face, it doesn’t look so upset. It does look… _something_ though. “ _Astrals_ , this changes everything. I… I don’t know where to begin.”

“Understandable,” Ignis says. “But it could be helpful for when you require more in-depth answers in the future.”

“No shit.” Cor says. He doesn’t ask for the phone back, but he reaches for it, grabs it, and pulls, so he releases his grip and Cor pulls the phone close to his eyes. He stares at it for a moment, and then his eyes move back to him. “Kid, I’m… I’m glad you know how to do this. We… don’t have time to sit down right now, but… If we can talk about it more later, that’ll be great. This is… this is really good.”

He feels that strange little pulling at the corner of his lips, when good things happen. It’s good. Good. Cor seems pleased.

Cor looks at Ignis again. “We really gotta go. I can’t keep Dr. Gravis waiting much longer. Uh, take it easy, and, uh, we’ll be seeing you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ignis says, and ducks his body forward a little before straightening himself.

“Alright,” Cor nods, and then looks to him. “Kid, we gotta—uh, wait, hang on.”

His eyes track Cor—and narrowly see Ignis doing the same—as Cor moves across the room and bends to the floor, grabbing hold and lifting the blanket from where it laid discarded. With the material gathered in his arms, he returns.

“You want to bring this with?”

He looks. It’s hard to _want_ , and harder to execute on it. It wasn’t something he had to think about before, and now Cor wants him to consider it so frequently. It has something to do with the inscrutable rules that govern this place, and it’s still hard to consider what he wants, but. He does. He does want. He wants… the warmth. And Cor is asking him directly, so. 

He nods.

And Cor smiles.

“Alright, here ya go,” Cor says, and drapes the soft length of fabric over his shoulders. He grips it in his hands in a secure vice, to keep it wrapped around both himself and the chocobo plush. 

He looks to Cor.

Cor’s still smiling. “Alright, good. We gotta go then.” He turns, “Goodbye, Ignis.” 

“Goodbye, sir,” Ignis nods to Cor, and then looks to him. “And you as well. Hopefully I will be seeing you again tomorrow.”

He nods absently at that. Yes. Hopefully. He doesn’t want to leave Ignis just yet, but Cor wants to leave, so he’s going to have to leave. But he will be seeing Ignis again soon, and that is enough to ease the subtle ache.

If they are going to be parting ways for now though, he knows what to do.

He lifts his hand, and waves to Ignis. 

Ignis smiles, and waves back.

And they leave.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugs!!!!!
> 
> Thank you everyone so much for your comments ;---; !!! I've been working and sleeping mostly, with little time to reply to anything, and I don't know how people feel about replies that are 100+ days late, but i DID read them all and I appreciate them so much (and i might still reply to them ahahahaa a lot of them make me so happy)! It makes me soooooo happy when people express the feelings they had while reading. So thank you! 
> 
> This chapter took A LONG TIME, ack. I wanted the conversation between Prompto and Cor to feel right though, and not make it seem like things get resolved awkwardly or out of nowhere. I hope the final result feels right and flows well enough!
> 
> Also, this chapter was SO LONG it is now separated into two chapters. The second half is in the next chapter!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter was so long and the flow felt weird between the first and second half and I realized this was because they're really just two separate chapters. So now the chapter is two chapters. The perspective pattern is broken! Now there's no telling what comes next.
> 
> Some typos have been fixed and some content added, mostly to the beginning of this chapter. I think there was some more I wanted to add to the previous one but I forgot by the time i got to sit down to re-edit... I'm not super-satisfied with Prompto's relaying of thoughts, but I blame that mostly on him being stressed as heck and hyper-focused on actions and not Contemplating as much. Maybe I'll add more thoughts later.
> 
> Anyway, same stuff happens, just featuring a few more written thoughts and an edited detail or few!

The trip to see Gravis requires walking down several halls, a long moment in the elevator, followed by the navigation of a few more halls.

It’s nothing he hasn’t already been acclimated to. That’s how it was in the facility; winding halls and lifts leading to more winding halls. In that regard, the two locations are structurally similar. However, each vary noticeably in their execution. The facility, in all its facets, was a built with and around metal structures. Lines and squares spanned the flat walls, and all of its spaces were either too bright or too dark. It was always cold.

Here, the expanse of the structure seems to be constructed with stone, and built in such a way that seems both impractical and deliberate. More panels of glass than necessary line the walls and ceilings in grids and circles, and, through them, light diffuses into the halls. 

Circles. That’s still interesting. An unprecedented number of non-linear and flowing shapes exist in nearly all of the areas of this still-unfamiliar location. The forms wind along the walls and ceiling in repetitious, intricate patterns. The hallways are segmented by arches, pillars are engraved with winding lines, the walls are layered with deliberate shapes of rock and metal that somehow create a structure that is entirely stable, despite how impossible it appears.

The shape of everything is strange, but at least the floor is flat. It too appears to be constructed with different patterns and colors of stone, but, despite the degree of variety, all of the pieces form one flat surface. Ultimately, it is functional.

It’s cold here too, but it’s different from the facility. The light source is ever-changing, moving for some reason, and when it’s too dark and no light pours through the glass, smaller light sources activate on the inside. It is never too bright though. Always just light enough to see, and dark enough to be calm.

It’s all starkly different than anything he’s known, and utterly nonsensical, but pleasing somehow. If nothing else, as they walk, he can watch the walls and contemplate their structural integrity.

It’s easier to do that now than it usually is. These walks tend to leave him feeling tense too-focused on his imminent objective, but today the silence and the walk are both calm. It’s okay because Cor is there and Cor hugged him today and smiled at him and said he wouldn’t hurt him.

It’s… hard to consider, but Cor hasn’t done anything to suggest otherwise yet, so…

They walk. In one hand, he clasps the edges of the blanket, allowing it to stay settled around himself where he can feel its warmth and the little soft fibers against the exposed skin of his neck. And under that arm, nearly shrouded away, he holds the plush chocobo, equally warm, and equally soft.

In his other hand, he has Cor’s hand. Or rather, Cor’s hand has his. Much like most things Cor requests, it sounded strange when he had first given him the task. _Hold my hand, kid_ , he had said, and he didn’t quite get it. But Cor wanted him to do it, so…

He did.

It’s since proven to be a somewhat ideal task.

It’s simple; Cor guides him around where he wants him to go, tugging him along, but never painfully. He’d remembered something similar that the guards would do around the labs sometimes, when he was too slow to interpret a task.

They didn’t have a name or verbal indication for it though. Nothing like Cor’s _hold my hand, kid_. They’d grab him by his upper arm, often painful and bruising, and tug him to where they wanted him. He’d always try to make sure they didn’t need to do that. When he was instructed to, he’d move. It’s just, sometimes he wasn’t instructed. Sometimes they’d go right to moving him themselves. It made him wonder if he’d missed instructions, or if they didn’t trust his programming to process that information.

Every time, it was a horrible feeling.

Cor’s method is different though. Lighter, and so much warmer. It guides him to where he needs to be, and he doesn’t have to think as hard or worry as much about it.

It’s a light feeling. 

“Hey, uh, kid,” Cor says, no shift in the pace of his stride. “I’m sorry I didn’t think to ask you about, uh, typing.” Even for Cor, it’s a strange thing to apologize for. “Uh, people don’t—uh, around here they, uh, don’t usually learn to type before they write. If you don’t know how to write, it didn’t occur to us to think you might know how to type.”

He blinks up at Cor.

“N-not that it’s a bad thing!” Cor speaks quickly, suddenly. “It’s actually really good that you know how to do that. It’s just… interesting that you know. Did you teach yourself how to type?”

A directive. He shakes his head.

“Taught then.” Cor says, as if confirming.

But… that’s no quite right either.

He shakes his head, and Cor almost doesn’t catch the movement out of the corner of his eye.

“Wait, _no?_ How did you learn it then?” 

He pauses. How did he learn it? He didn’t really. Not exactly. It’s just.

Awkwardly, he maneuvers the hand that’s not being held by Cor to tap his fist, swathed in softness, against his head. He watches Cor, and taps it again for emphasis, until Cor’s expression shifts.

“ _Huh._ ” He says, looking forward again. “I’ll… need to ask you more specifically about what that means later.” He coughs and, when he speaks again, his voice is clearer. “We don’t have a convenient means of exchanging messages just yet. We don’t just have computers and tablets lying around and they’re not going to want to give you anything that can access anything wirelessly. I’m gonna get you a word processor though, I don’t care if it’s the most archaic shit and typing is all it can do. You’ll be able to type whatever you want and ask any questions you want to. Until then… we’re going to have to stick with my phone as a medium. I can’t let you hold onto it, but if there’s anything you want to say to me or ask, you can, I dunno, tug my sleeve, and I’ll give it to you real quick, alright?"

He considers all this and can feel how wide his eyes are. He nods for Cor, and really he’s not sure if he’d be able to speak even if words were able to leave his throat. He’s more grateful to Cor than he could ever hope to express.

“Good,” Cor nods, and they keep walking.

He holds that grateful feeling in him as they continue forward, and it isn’t until Cor opens a door that the dread starts to settle in. That’s right. He’s been feeling so much regarding Cor that he hasn’t had much time to contemplate that he was returning to see Gravis.

He follows Cor inside, tightening his grip on his hand as they do, and Cor looks at him, mouth opening as if to speak.

“Marshal,” A woman says, seated behind a desk, but rising now. Cor’s mouth snaps shut. She smiles, but she looks tense. “Welcome back. Dr. Gravis is ready to see you right away.” 

“… Thank you,” Cor says, and she nods at him, gesturing to the side; to the door which has led to Gravis each time he’s been here.

“Alright then,” Cor says, quieter, straightening himself. And then he looks down at him. “Are you okay to go in? I know the doctor’s office makes you uncomfortable, but… I’m hoping the doc will know what made you sick, so we can make sure you don’t feel so bad again. Are you ready?” 

He swallows and looks at the door. The room behind it bears too much of a resemblance to the labs. It’s cleaner, brighter, and there’s less equipment packed into it than what he’s used to, but it’s also distinctly sterile, filled with familiar tools, a table, and a man in a coat.

He inhales. They didn’t hurt him last time. Or the time before that. Gravis didn’t suggest upgrading him or plug anything into him. It’s not ideal, but if Gravis can figure out what made him incompatible with the rice… if it can make Cor happy…

He exhales silently and nods, tightening his grip on Cor’s hand.

Cor nods in return, squeezes back, and they both walk through the door.

- 

“Marshal,” Gravis says as soon as he spots Cor. “Welcome back.”

“Yeah, thanks. Sorry for the short notice.”

Gravis shrugs. “Such is the nature of illness. It’s what I’m here for. Has his condition improved since yesterday?”

“I think so…” Cor says, an increment slower than his usual rate of speech. “It was just immediately after the rice, and that was it. He’s nervous about eating again though, and I’m not inclined to feed him something that’s gonna fuck up his stomach.”

“A-ah… well… let’s see what we can discern,” Gravis says and then looks down to him, and then back to Cor. “Could you have him remove his shoes and set the items aside?”

“Yeah,” Cor says in a breath, and then kneels down in front of him. “Okay, kid, listen. We’re going to try to get this done as quick as we can, alright? It’ll be like the other times. I’m gonna have to hold on to the blanket and chocobo for a moment, but it won’t be long at all, okay?”

He feels his grip tighten around the chocobo plush and he doesn’t quite understand why. He has to loosen it to give it to Cor. His arms ache as he does it, but he maneuvers the blanket and chocobo plush into Cor’s arms.

“Okay,” Cor says, quieter, and reaches a hand out to his shoulder and squeezes it before he straightens himself. “Take your shoes off then and go by Doctor Gravis. I’ll be right here, and I won’t let anything bad happen to you, I promise.”

He breathes in, and then bends down to pull the shoes from his feet. He doesn’t want to have to finish this task and move onto the next one where he confronts Gravis. He really doesn’t. But, when he has no more shoes to take off, there’s no more delaying. He turns and walks forward to where Gravis stands.

The procedure goes as it did the last few times. He’s measured and weighed, Gravis records his findings, and then he is sent to sit on the table. The command makes his chest and stomach hurt, but he doesn’t want to appear insubordinate to Cor or to Gravis, so he forces himself to the table and sits rigid on its surface. At least once he’s seated, Cor’s right there, and he can feel his hand on his shoulder. It reminds him he’s _here_ , and not _there_.

“It’s okay,” Cor says, squeezing firmly, but not painfully. “You’re doing fine.”

He doesn’t feel fine. But Cor’s words suggest he’s satisfied with his performance so far, so… that’s more than fine.

Gravis tells him to hold up his arm, and he does. He wraps a device around it, and he’s prepared for it now, but the first time he didn’t know what to expect from it. It had swelled and squeezed his arm and squeezed, and squeezed, _and squeezed_ , until he was sure it was an unconventional means of removing his arm to replace it. Except then it had receded, the woman had nodded, and she had removed the device. He didn’t find out anything about it. Except that Gravis also had the device and ran the same test at each of his visits. And even now, as he keeps still, and Cor squeezes his shoulder, and the device squeezes his arm, and finally deflates, he’s still confused by it. Gravis nods and removes it from his arm, and walks away.

He still doesn’t understand the purpose of this.

When Gravis returns, he’s fidgeting with the device around his neck and brings two of its ends to his ears, and holds the remaining end in his hand and moves close. He asks him to breathe.

It’s another test that has been done several times since his arrival, And, like the previous, he did not know what to expect of it the first time. He considered it might be a device capable of sending a pulse that could disrupt his systems and shut him down. He wasn’t capable of wireless transmissions, so it had to be an affect confined to that device.

He was prepared for an imminent shutdown.

The woman had pressed the device to his chest, and it was cold on contact, but not electric. But surely it _would_ be?

She had stayed like that for a moment while he managed to keep himself straight and stilled. He didn’t know what she was trying to do or what she was testing him on, but he tried so hard to do it right.

Except a deep frown had set on her face.

“Are you nervous?” she had asked.

He didn’t know what to say. All he knew was he wasn’t supposed to _say anything_. So he didn’t.

“Does your heart always beat this fast?”

And that was how he found out the function of the device. It can hear his heartbeat and the way he breathes, and that made something in him sink. He’d never been particularly apt at adjusting his heartrate, and he still isn’t. Before, he had never been ordered to. It’s not important anyway, not really. As long as he can keep the rest of his functions stilled and in order when necessary, it shouldn’t matter.

But here, it seems to be regarded much more importantly, enough that there is a test dedicated to it and he has been repeatedly subjected to it.

The device listens to his heartbeat. The woman was listening to the quality of his heart, and she was frowning. She wasn’t pleased at all.

He’d managed to keep himself still, but he remembers the tears that streamed loose.

And he remembers that Cor was there, and how he spoke to him and gripped his hands, preventing any pain or correction despite his incompetence and inability to offer any responses. Cor didn’t let him get hurt.

And Cor’s still here, still not letting him be hurt.

He’s suddenly aware that Gravis is frowning.

“Nothing to be scared of, you’re doing fine.” he says, then adjusts the device. “Take a deep breath in please.”

It comes in harsh.

“… And out.”

And he exhales, like static.

The process is repeated, and then replicated on his back before Gravis sets the device down at a resting position around his neck and off his ears. He explains the parameters for one more test; the one where he has to sit still and then lay on his back while Gravis taps and pushes different parts of his body, and he has to indicate if there is resulting pain.

It’s an odd, purposeless test. He can’t call it painful though. He knows what pain feels like. None of it is painful. But it _is_ uncomfortable. And too familiar. Laying on his back, staring up into bright lights while a man in a coat hovers around him, it feels too much like he’s getting ready for something worse. That it’s time for the pain to return and to see that everything else was an elaborate simulation.

But Cor’s holding his hand, and that’s less familiar. But familiar in a new way. It’s good. He focuses on that.

“Okay, thank you, you can sit up,” Gravis says, and, gratefully, he does. “He can have his things back, Marshal.”

“Good.” Cor says, squeezing his hand once more before letting go and moving to retrieve the soft objects. The blanket goes over his shoulders, the chocobo plush goes into his lap, and his hand goes back into Cor’s.

“Good job, kid,” Cor says, rubbing his hand, and it’s better than when Gravis was tapping over his kidneys. It makes that memory feel farther away. Then Cor looks forward. “So, anything out of the ordinary, doc?”

“Well, the usual things. He has high blood pressure for someone his age, but I suppose we can chock that one up to the circumstances, hm?”

Cor nods, “We’re doing what we can.”

“Of course. And most of his bruises are faded. It’s difficult to gauge his level of discomfort when he… stares like that, but I suspect the wounds are less tender now. It’s improving.”

Cor makes a thoughtful sound and nods. “That’s good. It was… really bad then.”

“Yes… and there is still more healing to be done. Anyway, tell me, have you been following my suggestions for re-fortifying his diet?”

Cor nods again. “That’s what the rice was for. It was simple, and I know Monica packed it full of good shit, so it was… fine? I’m not sure why it didn’t sit right with him.

“Hmm… and how much did he eat before the incident?”

“Just a couple of bites…” 

“And this was the first time you fed him the rice?”

“That’s right.”

“Well then, it might be something specific with rice or an effect of one or more of the spices involved. It might be best to stick with some of the other foods I suggested. What else has he eaten that has been well-received?”

“Uh, well, he’s had broth. Apple sauce took a bit but he seems to like it fine. Uh, we got him drinking sports drinks. That electrolyte shit, right? And, uh, he can handle watered-down oatmeal. And, uh, yeah.”

Gravis watches Cor for a moment and then his eyebrows rise. “Is that all?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Gravis pinches the bridge of his nose, jostling his glasses in the process. “Marshal, I gave you more suggestions than that.” 

Cor fidgets. “I understand, but, just, he’s never eaten before. It’s a lot.”

“ _What?”_

“What?”

Gravis inhales deeply, and exhales forcefully. “Marshal, what sort of situation was the boy in before you brought him here?”

Cor’s expression hardens. “It involves sensitive information, doctor.”

“I understand the need to keep the information guarded, Marshal, particularly regarding whatever is surrounding this… situation, but if you are too selective about what you share with me, I am not going to be able to help you.”

“That’s—” 

“You told me he came from a difficult situation and that he hasn’t been eating. Given what I have to work with here, my speculation leads me to consider an abusive or hostage situation. It seemed as though he had not eaten in a while, but not to a critical degree, so I sought to set him back on the right track.”

Cor frowns. “He… that’s not right. He’s never eaten.”

Gravis’s eyebrows raise and then furrow. “I don’t believe that.”

Cor’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

“When you brought him in, aside from his mental state and the surface wounds, he seemed physically adequate. A little underweight for someone his age and height, but, again, I’ve been working under the assumption that he’d been recently cut off from a source of food.” 

“He… he’s never eaten anything.” Cor says. “He hasn’t recognized any food that I’ve given to him. Doc, he didn’t understand anything about eating before coming here. The only thing we didn’t have trouble with was water.”

“That’s… hm… I don’t understand…” 

Gravis looks upset, and Cor looks unhappy too. They’re not saying anything now and he feels the tension starting to hurt. He could… he has a response for this. It would be helpful if he could— 

He pulls on Cor’s sleeve a little and Cor turns to look at him in a snapping motion with wide eyes. Just as quickly, they soften.

“Yeah?” Cor says. “What is it?”

He swallows. _What is it?_ is one of those questions Cor asks that doesn’t seem to mean anything accept _tell me something._ It’s a strange question, but one that accommodates his needs now. 

He raises his hands a little in front of himself and makes careful motions, as if he’s holding an invisible phone and tapping at its unseen screen.

Cor’s expression contracts for a moment as he studies the movements, and then it altogether expands. “Oh!... Yeah? Okay, h-hang on.”

Cor produces the phone and taps at its screen. “Yeah, this’ll work. Just… show me what you type and I’ll relay the information to him, alright? I wanna make sure it’s nothing... too specific.”

Cor hands him the device and then they’re both watching him. The surveillance makes him nervous, it’s too familiar, but Cor’s parameters make him more comfortable. He doesn’t have to worry about typing adequately for Gravis. He’s typing for Cor.

He types, and turns the message to Cor.

_I did not eat human food before. Sustenance was liquid. I drank it when it was given._

Cor frowns and stares at the phone for a moment before looking to Gravis. “He was… his diet was all liquid? He drank all his food.”

Gravis looks surprised. “Liquid diet? Huh…” He looks down to him. “You’re pretty resilient for someone who was living on liquids. Do you know how much you drank, what it was that you drank, and how frequently?” 

Cor looks at him, and he considers, and types.

_Thirty ounces of nutrient drink, three times per day, every day._

“It’s… thirty ounces of some kind of nondescript drink, three times a day, every day.” Cor says.

“I see…” Gravis says with a hand against his chin. “That must be something quite sturdy then, to keep him so fit in this early stage in life.”

Cor’s eyebrows pull inward. “Fit? He’s scrawny.”

“Comparatively,” Gravis shrugs. “But just on liquid? It’s something. It also seems to be more than what he’s getting here.”

Cor’s expression turns angry. “ _What?”_  

“I-I mean, Marshal, it’s how it is.” Gravis says and looks to his clipboard. “Across our visits, he’s been incrementally, but consistently, losing weight. It’s not yet detrimental, but I worry about it becoming problematic. Has he been more tired lately? Complaining about dizziness at all?

Cor’s posture sags. “He’s been tired since he got here. He’s… passed out sometimes, but…”

There’s silence and Cor’s sentence doesn’t seem to complete itself. Instead, Gravis steps forward.

“I think I have a better understanding of how to proceed now. I will send you a new document and schedule for reference in regards on how to acclimate him to eating solids. In the meantime, it may be wise to have him drinking some supplements to get those nutrients back. I’ll send you my suggestions.”

A long breath escapes Cor. “Thank you, doctor. I’m sorry again about the circumstances.”

“No need,” Gravis raises his hand and shakes his head. “I get how it is. I’m sorry I’m not _more_ qualified. Though, I will admit, this particular situation seems quite, ah, unique? It will remain off the record as you requested, and I will share the information with the individuals you designated. Anyway, worry not.” 

“Thank you.” Cor says again, and then shuffles his weight. “So… uh, are we good to go then?”

“I’d say so,” Gravis nods. “He seems to be faring well enough. Just be mindful of the suggestions I send you and I’m sure we’ll see progress in no time.”

“I hope so,” Cor says quietly and turns to face him, “Alright then, kid. Let’s get going. And, uh, here, let me hold that while you get your shoes back on.”

Cor holds the chocobo while he re-applies the shoes and then finally, _finally_ , they’re out of that small room. The tension lingers in him, and his chest still hurts, but there’s no more anticipation. They’re done with it. If only just for now, he doesn’t have to think about it.

“You did good, kid,” Cor says on an exhale. “I’m sorry. I wish we didn’t have to do that… but Doctor Gravis figured it out, and we’ll be able to get you eating right.”

He’s so tired. Cor seems tired too, but he also seems pleased with the results of the visit with Gravis. And that’s good enough.

“Hey,” Cor says after a moment. “It’s been a really long day so far. You think you could go for a nap right about now?”

He considers. _Nap_ is the word Cor uses to describe periods of stasis outside of the designated hours. Where _sleep_ is at night, _naps_ seem to be every other time preceding it.

Naps are… interesting. They represent a period of time where he’s allowed to suspend his awareness and exist in a quiet space until Cor returns. When he emerges from it, he always aches less.

Feeling the weariness in his arms and legs, and the tightness lingering in his chest, he thinks maybe it would be an appropriate time for a _nap_.

He nods carefully, and Cor smiles.

“Yeah, okay,” Cor says, and squeezes his hand, like a hug focused down to his fingers. “Let’s go get you that nap.”

The whole way back, he feels like he’s drifting, but Cor’s holding his hand, guiding him along, and he feels perfectly warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about a false chapter y'all.. But hey, if you have any questions you'd like any characters to ask Prompto now that they have a communication medium, because you think they would/should or you REALLY want them to ask something, comment your thoughts and, if able, I will try to include them,, in the next chapter ;D Thanks y'all <3


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